


Unbalanced

by distantstarlight



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Alpha John, Angst, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Medical Trauma, Omega Sherlock, Omegaverse, Power Imbalance, Unhealthy Relationships, all the feels, happy ending guarantee, post series 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-07-25 05:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16190798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: Sometimes belonging together means that you have to weather the ups and downs that are an inevitable part of relationships. If you are Sherlock Holmes or John Watson, those problems aren’t often simple.





	1. After the Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [borderlinecrazy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/borderlinecrazy/gifts).



> Borderlinecrazy has waited three entire years for me to finish this, and I'm sorry for the delay. Their request reads as follows:
> 
> I'd like an abo Johnlock with John finding out Sherlock's an omega when he comes back. Then he has to choose between trying something with the detective he's always cared for and the woman he's asked to marry him. Lots of angst, lots of feels, and happy Johnlock ending. Bonuses for comments by Sarah about her thinking they've been a bonded pair already when John asks for advice.  
> PS - for those who are unaware, I really dislike the character Mary Morstan, and I always have. There is no mind-changing for me.
> 
> This fic is completely written and I will post a new Chapter every two days until it is fully presented.
> 
> *NOTIFICATION*  
> I will not be responding to negative or unnecessarily critical comments, in fact, I will be deleting them as I go. If a reader does not like this fic, they are welcome to move along to find another story that suits them better. There are millions of fics in every permutation available on A03. If they wish for me to write a fic for them, then asking me after insulting me is not the best plan and you will be permanently ignored. I suggest you write your own fics to satisfy your own needs. I write during my extremely limited free time and post it to be freely consumed by anyone interested. Where I once welcomed fic prompts and responded to fic requests, thanks to people described above, I will no longer be doing so. For my devoted and loving fans to whom I have enjoyed many years of pleasant discourse, I don't mean you, I love and adore and appreciate every single one of you because you have kept me uplifted on so many occasions when I needed it the most. Thank you for reading my work.

The scent was what he noticed first. All the other alphas in the room had also noticed it as well, he wasn’t the only one lifting his head to sniff at it. It was the most compelling scent he’d ever come across. There were heart-breakingly rich strains of a long-lost scent; cedar, rosewood, ocean surf, and so many other wild untamed things. It was richer, fuller, more pungent than he recalled as if someone had taken his aural memory and jacked it up from black and white into technicolour. There were other scents mixed in, something like old blood, or foetid flesh, but just a distant hint, and definitely not enough to keep the rest of the scent from being completely alluring.

John tried to ignore it.  He needed to focus, to put all distractions aside. His comparatively nose-deaf beta girlfriend, Mary, was just re-seating herself and he forced himself to focus on her. She deserved it. He had been so ill and disconnected when they’d met but she’d helped him through it all until he was back on his feet and functional once more. John barely recalled how their relationship had begun, but it had solidified over the last year, mostly due to Mary’s unusual persistence. He was very grateful to her for being so patient, so focused. She was the one who had convinced him to try, even though she wasn’t an omega. He was fairly certain they could work out all their possible problems together because she was just that good for him.

Still, the new scent was very distracting, overwhelming the cloud of _Claire de Lune_ perfume that Mary had chosen as her signature scent. John figured that the amount she wore was Mary overcompensating for the fact that betas only possessed an average human sense of smell, unlike the other two genders who used scent as part of their personal communication. Their house was so saturated with it that he could never tell when they had company, her perfume was all he ever noticed. Now, the dizzying combination of the two odours was nearly as distracting as the French waiter who was trying to take his drinks order. The new smell was bizarrely familiar, but John knew if he wasn’t already intimately familiar with an omega who smelled this delicious, he’d at least recall their name.

It took until Mary gasped the words, “It’s you!” that he finally looked up.

John was frozen where he sat, shock, disbelief, incredulity, relief, fury, dismay, and grief tying itself in a free-for-all of emotions that paralyzed him. Something in his chest flooded with painful heat and it was like something fused itself to his heart and it was paralysing. When he finally did move, it was to lunge toward the man he’d thought dead and gone years ago, his fist flying out as he knocked him to his back against the highly polished tiles of _The Landmark_ restaurant. “John!” Mary tried to stop him, but she was no match for an enraged alpha. _How? How was he alive?_ In his endless nightmares of grief, John had his friend’s blood on his hands as he keened out his desolation from his loss _. Was all of it for nothing but a trick?_

Sherlock didn’t try to defend himself. He took the blows, his head snapping back and hitting the floor, and if anything, the knee-weakening smell of omega grew stronger, and it drove the alpha right around the bend with an overload of feelings. John might have kept beating him if the wait-staff hadn’t managed to knock him to the ground, five of them taking John out to the service entrance and tossing him into an alley.

Mary and Sherlock followed until they were all back on the street properly. The beta smiled at Sherlock whenever John looked their way but once, John saw her expression twist into one of mild distaste, her eyes hard and flat. Each time John had calmed down enough to try and ask a question, the first sound from Sherlock’s mouth made him see red with rage, his nose filled with that unexpected omega scent mixed with blood, and he would lash out physically once again. John shouted things out, demanding answers but never giving Sherlock time to answer. He was nearly incoherent with a combination of overwhelming relief mixed perfectly with rage.

Later, at the flat, John couldn’t recall the words they had exchanged, could barely piece together the timeline of the evening. He vaguely recalled calling Sherlock a thick-headed omega twat, and he cringed with shame for doing so. His late father had called his mother that several times during their many fights and John hated that he’d slipped into that abusive mindset so effortlessly. Mary was smiling, and she looked smug, condescending as she read through John’s old blog. It was then that John recalled her happy comment in the cab, “I like him.” Mary seemed satisfied, “Good breeding hips. I bet his family is just champing at the bit to find a bond-mate for him, I know I would. You can’t let omegas get too old, why, who knows what would happen to the ova if a _geriatric_ omega tried to get bred at such an age? Maybe being childless is for the best, didn’t you say he was a sociopath? What about the addiction? He’s been gone for a long time. How can we know he hasn’t gone right back to doing them? You know how weak-willed omegas are, they give in so easy.”

He couldn’t even respond to her musings. None of the omegas he’d ever known was weak-willed, if anything, they were determined, professional, tireless, and focussed. He didn’t want to argue the point right then. Instead, he went to the loo to get some privacy. As he cleaned his abraded knuckles, John couldn’t help but admit to himself that he’d reacted poorly. He’d begged the universe so many times to return Sherlock to him, and now that it had, what had he done? He’d struck his friend in anger instead of marvelling at the miracle of his return. He hadn’t even asked Sherlock any useful questions, like, where he had been, how had he managed it, why had he done it, and obviously, how had he managed to disguise his omega nature for so long? John didn’t know which hidden truth hurt him more; Sherlock faking his death, or Sherlock hiding his true self from him. Sherlock hadn’t trusted John with any of his secrets and John felt so completely adrift because of it.

Now, there was Mary to consider as well. He’d been with her for nearly a year, probably not long enough to be _certain_ about marriage but also, both old enough to make John think twice about passing up a viable long-term relationship that had domestic potential. Neither of them was getting any younger and it had made sense to ask her to be his wife. She was stable, reliable, and it was about time that he had some pups, or one, at least. They hadn’t talked about it, though Mary had hinted several times that having the pups from an alpha was about as big a dream as beta women could have since alphas chose omegas over betas for breeding purposes. She’d always made fun of bonds, calling it _chemical slavery_ instead of a genetic imperative.  Alphas and omegas were literally designed to cleave together, to create a perfect union with one another, their physical beings adjusting naturally until they were in harmony. Betas could wed and devote their lives to one another, but it wasn’t the same as a bond. John was willing to have a beta-marriage with her. Their life together was pleasant though Mary was far more social than he was, going out two or three nights a week with her mates and leaving John at home. He preferred it that way. Since he’d come back from the war, and especially since he’d thought he’d lost Sherlock forever, John had always preferred to keep his social life as uneventful as possible.

He thought about his relationship with Mary. Earlier today he had wanted to make a commitment to her. Before they’d met his life had been so empty. Even though he’d just seen the man, there was still a hole in John’s soul where Sherlock had once lived. Being with Mary wasn’t the best relationship he’d ever had, but at his age, he had doubted that he’d find better. _Was that enough, though? Was it right or fair to bind themselves together on so empty a premise? Mary seemed to want it, and if it made her happy, was it so wrong to go forward with that plan_?

John mused other aspects of his time with Mary. She had her own existence apart from him, her own set of friends, hobbies, and so forth. Sometimes she brought him out with her, or invited one or two special ones over, but mostly not.  He liked that, he liked that he didn’t need to be her entire world. The intimacy they shared was enough, even if it wasn’t what he’d once dreamed of, that wasn’t her fault. Their sex life was moderately satisfying, but, he couldn’t penetrate Mary. She told him dozens of times that it wasn’t what she wanted anyway, that she was more than satisfied otherwise. Their difficulties weren’t her fault at all, it was all him. John’s cock was on the large size, even for alphas. There _were_ some alphas who were small enough to engage in all forms of sex with a beta, but John was not in that number. Instead, he and Mary relied on manual stimulation and intercrural sex, and many other delightful workarounds.

Mary was resourceful as well as creative in bed, but John wasn’t _genetically_ meant to settle down with a beta. Betas were a last resort, biologically meant to be caretakers and assistants to the other genders. Most gravitated naturally toward supportive roles in the workplace and at home. Mary was a nurse, for instance, but until tonight, John had refused to admit something else to himself. Mary _was_ a last resort, a stopgap measure, a _good-enough-for-now_ decision, and he might have been content forever if Sherlock had not returned and forced him to look deeper than he might have otherwise.

Mary had characteristics he didn’t care for, like how much perfume she wore. His sense of smell was second only to an omega’s and too much too often would deaden it. Some days when he came home it would smell as if she’d bathed in the stuff. Everything smelled of it, even their sheets. Still, that was a pretty minor grievance. Overall, she was pretty, quite clever, and funny, and she tried to be what he needed. _She wasn’t Sherlock, though. She never could be._ Guilt mixed with determination grew. _He had promised, hadn’t he, and John Watson did not break his promises_. He had asked one _Mary Elizabeth Morstan_ to be his bride, or at least, had been about to ask her. Now that he thought about it, John realized that he’d never gotten around to verbalizing anything to her _about_ marriage. Still, she was wearing the ring he hadn’t officially given her because Sherlock had interrupted before he could pop the question. It was a moot point, anyway. John had deliberately arranged the evening in order to ask her to be his wife, they both knew it, and she very obviously accepted without him needing to do the deed. Sherlock being alive had nothing to do with that.

“You have to go see him, he _was_ your only best friend _then_ but now you’ve got two, no need to thank me, but he should know, right? Why didn’t you tell me he was so pretty in real life? None of those press shots does him justice at all. Does he still have the hat? If he does, we can get him to wear it. I know some single alphas looking for someone, he’d do well by them. He’s far too old to be gadding about single and vulnerable. If they won’t do, I know some nice strong alpha ladies who could settle him down. He needs a firm hand, obviously.”

John would pay good money to witness someone trying to set Sherlock up against his will, especially if they somehow managed to compel him to wear what he likely still thought of as the _death frisbee_. Sherlock would verbally eviscerate whoever was trying to dominate him before physically incapacitating them. Just because he was out as an omega now didn’t cause the doctor to forget how very capable Sherlock was in hand to hand combat. He could do nearly anything John could do. His biology clearly had not prevented him from developing whichever skills he’d deemed necessary. He sighed impatiently. John wished Mary would just let up, even for just a few minutes so that he could think. She’d been like this for nearly an hour now.

Currently, Mary was giggling her way through John’s blog. She’d never tried to look at it before but now she was sitting in bed reading bits out in funny voices and pointing out places where she thought the story had gone too far afield from believable. It was grating on John’s nerves, especially the comment about being his bestie. John cared for her deeply, but he didn’t have _best_ _friends_ , he only had the one, and that was Sherlock Holmes. She was needling him unkindly, another one of the few tendencies he didn’t like much about her. She tried to play off as merely joking, but the oddly patronising tone of voice was the one that she used whenever she was attempting to be supportive despite disagreeing with whatever the issue was. Mary said out loud that she liked Sherlock, but John doubted it, not with how she was picking their cases apart to laugh at them. The doctor was still very proud of all the things he and Sherlock had accomplished together back then. _They had saved lives, property, had solved mysteries that had left families in misery, and they’d done it all together. John found that he didn’t appreciate how meanly she laughed at their past adventures_. “Honestly, John, _secret codes, Chinese smugglers?”_ Mary snorted as she tried to suppress a scoff.

Everything she said and did was putting him off. Just yesterday he would have just stood there smiling, unwilling and unable to defend his position, too grateful that she was there at all to say a word about how she made him feel. John tried not to feel offended by her mockery and airy attitude, but a huge part of his internal resources was being used to deal with the fact that Sherlock Holmes was not only alive, but an omega instead of the beta John had thought he had been, and he was too raw to play nice. He felt like she was needlessly mocking him about it and he didn’t understand why she would. _Second genders weren’t that important a distinction. Was it fear of the depth of sentiment she might be threatened by?_ He and Sherlock had only _ever_ been friends, which was more than Mary could claim with some of the company she kept. Why he’d sat through several dinners with her alpha ex-boyfriend David with _whom she_ _still remained friends with_ , so he didn’t see how she had room to poke fun about the person she knew full well he’d mourned endlessly. John’s already frayed patience snapped. “You can ask Doctor Sarah Sawyer about that one. That happened on our first date, and fine, I’ll go see him tomorrow.”

Perhaps it was cruel to mention an ex-girlfriend right then, especially since Sarah was an omega, one who had shared her heat with John once. Mary’s face crumpled dramatically, tears welling up yet not quite spilling over. John reminded himself that he cared for this woman, but he wasn’t feeling it right then. He’d already asked her once if he could just have a few minutes to himself, and instead, her endless commentary had begun. John was trying. He just needed half-an-hour of silence so that he could wrap his head around things, to just breathe and try to regroup but she just would not let up. John knew that he was far too disconcerted for diplomacy, but he tried. “Sorry, just…my temper isn’t at its best at the moment.”

Mary did not accept his apology. She went so far as to bite her lower lip and slump her shoulders. It was artful, but John suddenly recognised the well-practised pose. She wanted him to feel bad about hurting her feelings and ignore the fact that she had deliberately trampled on his. It wasn’t the first time. In fact, Mary had used that exact same expression to get herself out of other situations one time too many and he now recognised it for the manipulation it was. Mary knew that a beta was no competition against an omega, and he couldn’t help that his body had recognised something very specific; a ripe unclaimed omega he knew was available. His basic biology wasn’t giving him a choice about that, so he had to fight back with his logical mind, and behaviour like hers wasn’t helping - quite the opposite. Mary’s choice to mock his old life severely decreased his desire to retain the life they’d envisioned together. This whole evening had been a game changer. _Sherlock was alive_. Sherlock was alive and in London. Sherlock Holmes was alive, _an omega_ , and home once more. He didn’t know how to deal with these facts.

Mary then tried to joke with him about shaving, but John could hear the edge in her words. For the entire time they’d known one another, John had been rebuilding himself from the hollowed-out shell of grief he’d been when they’d met. Facial hair had been a part of that process, clearly, not a successful one. John tried to deny it out loud but even he knew how obvious it was that he was shaving for Sherlock Holmes. Mary’s smile had dropped away when he’d finally emerged from the bathroom, his face smooth and clean, the years that had sat upon his features mere minutes ago now a hard-to-recall memory.

John had seen for himself that he was transformed into a man that Mary did not know, a man accustomed to living an erratic and dangerous life, someone who was a gentleman when it suited him, and a murderous bastard when it didn’t. The man who had nearly proposed to her earlier in the evening was a pale shadow of the person standing there now and John could see the shocked understanding on her face as she took him in with a long glance. The emotional temperature bedroom dropped several degrees as Mary stared at him, really seeing him for the first time. John had been switched off all along and it had taken the re-emergence of Sherlock Holmes to switch him back on again.

Mary hadn’t had nearly the same effect on him and they both knew it now. John felt a bit guilty but at the same time he was a tad irritated with her lack of faith in him, and then he felt guilty all over again. _Maybe Mary did have something to be concerned about._ John didn’t know. He couldn’t organise his thoughts and feelings fast enough to process all the revelations today had brought. Mary closed her tablet, shut off her night-light and pulled the covers up tight. John just went to bed, not attempting to soothe her in any way at all. The atmosphere in their bedroom had turned from companionable to bitter, and John wondered if he’d made a mistake when he’d first considered purchasing the ring that was on her finger, then became angry with himself for thinking the thought at all. _He loved Mary. They were going to get married and live a perfectly decent life together. They’d have two children, raise them, and do all the things that everyday people did._ John was certain that the current situation could be weathered.

John closed his eyes and fought off a powerful urge to leave the small house he shared with his new fiancée and to run all the way to 221 B Baker Street and Sherlock. He felt feverish, and his chest was burning with the frustrated shouts he was holding in. His animal side wanted to haul Sherlock to his bedroom to breed and claim him, keeping him chained to the bed until their first massive litter could be delivered. His heart wanted to gather Sherlock up in his arms and hold him forever. In reality, John lay in bed with the blankets tamped down like a wall between himself and the woman he lived with. John tried to forget the most delectable scent he’d ever come across. Mary at least had the sense not to push John further, just going to sleep with her back to him, laying as far across the mattress as she could get, telegraphing her displeasure clearly. John was fine with it as he dozed off. Without willing it, John’s dreams were filled with memories of Sherlock.

 


	2. 221 B Baker Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John decides to go see Sherlock and finds more than he suspected he would.

Mary was still a bit cool with him the next morning, announcing that she had a day planned with David as she dotted Claire du Lune on her throat, the back of her neck, inside her cleavage, as well as her wrists. John even watched as she put some on the backs of her knees, and on her ankles. John shrugged and responded by saying that he wasn’t certain how long he would be at Baker Street. John noticed that whenever she was upset with him, she always turned to David. It should have made him feel jealous right then because previously, it had, but not today. Today John was going to see the omega that used to be his best friend and try to get some answers about what had happened. If Mary wanted to go run around with her friends, then that was one less thing John had to think about right then and he was glad. There was too much as it was, he already felt torn in two.

Suddenly, he couldn’t be back on Baker Street fast enough. Something in his chest tugged at him, filling him with anxiety. He needed to get back to the flat right that instant. The cab ride to Baker Street seemed to take forever. John still had the keys, but he didn’t need them. The door was ajar, so he let himself in, his nerves instantly on edge as something compelled him to bound up the stairs as fast and as silently as he could. John sniffed the air carefully. He quickly recognised the mouth-watering and intoxicating scent of Sherlock-as-an-omega but there was more! _Another alpha was in there with him and John could smell something commanding. There was the sharp tang of fear, of arousal, of lust._ John’s eyes widened as his brain translated the messages his nose was giving him. _Sherlock was close to heat!_ John burst in and saw a tall ginger alpha pressing Sherlock against the wall, rutting his massive erection against Sherlock’s thigh like an animal. The man was rugged and heavily muscled. He reminded John of some of the people he’d served with, subconsciously John recognised the military training the man had had, but he tore his eyes from the alpha to check on Sherlock.

The omega looked faint and dazed, and anything but consenting as a trickle of blood from a ragged cut on his forehead spilled over his nose. His arms were twisted up behind his back so that he couldn’t use them at all, wrists secured by his own scarf which was still wrapped around Sherlock’s neck. _He was being throttled!_ His legs were spread, the strange alpha’s thigh keeping them apart, and John could see that Sherlock’s flies had already been undone and that his zipper was down. The room was drenched in defensive pheromones as Sherlock chemically called for help. He looked pasty and ill instead of flush with arousal. _This wasn’t the precursor to eagerly enjoyed rough sex, this was attempted rape._ John saw red, and nothing could stop him, especially when the intruder spat out the words, “Fuck off, short-arse, this wet cunt is mine.” The man raised his fist, clearly readying himself to strike Sherlock once again, possibly attempting to render him unconscious so that he didn’t prevent the newer alpha from getting what he wanted.

There were no circumstances under which John would allow anyone to be assaulted, even if they were once-best-friends who had been dead to the world only one day ago. That it was Sherlock made all the most primitive parts of John’s hindbrain kick into action, and he stalked forward threateningly, “You had best back away from him right now, boy. Only warning.” It was easy to load menace as well as contempt into every word. As far as John was concerned, rapists were low and deserved the kicking they were going to get if he caught them. Adrenaline rushed through his veins like liquid heat, making his body ready to pounce, his pheromones full of warning, “He’s not yours, he’s mine.” John meant it. Sherlock had chosen _him_ years ago and John wasn’t going to allow some uninvited interloper the chance to defy his omega. Suddenly, he found himself wishing for fangs because he was going to tear this fucker’s throat out.

The alpha finished knocking Sherlock out by bashing his head against the mantle. He dropped the now limp detective to the floor and stalked toward John, fists bunched, and teeth bared. “I said this dripping hole is mine! Fuck off!” John didn’t hesitate. With a swift push off his left leg, John punched the alpha in the throat at the same moment he kicked the inside of the man’s knee. With a garbled shout, the large man crumpled, clutching his neck with both hands. Grabbing him by the neck of his shirt and the waist of his pants, John rousted him down the stairs and right out of the flat. He tossed the alpha right onto the street, savagely booting the man until he stopped moving before retreating and locking himself back into their old rooms with a terrifying snarl.

He called the police, explaining that he had arrived home to discover a strange alpha had tried to assault his mate after breaking into their secured flat while his mate was entering heat. The broken lock on the exterior door was proof enough that the unconscious man had not been invited and had, in fact, forced his way. John was too far under the control of his inner alpha to realise that he’d unthinkingly publicly declared that he was Sherlock’s bond-mate. He made no effort to correct his declaration. Carefully, John carried the insensible omega to his bedroom and lay him out on his bed, checking his pulse as he pulled Sherlock’s mobile out, “Mycroft, it’s John. I came by to see Sherlock and some bloke was in the flat. He knocked Sherlock out before I could stop him. I don’t know what Sherlock’s situation is right now but I’m about to call for an ambulance. Whoever it was tried to force himself on Sherlock because he’s going into heat. I beat the bastard unconscious, so I suppose the police will be taking me away soon.”

“Remain with Sherlock,” Mycroft said instantly, “The authorities will not trouble you.” The room smelled gorgeously of Sherlock as the man sank deeper and deeper into his cycle, his skin pouring off pheromones as he attempted to entice his mate even in his sleep. It was hard to remain focussed and in control but John’s over-riding instinct was to protect Sherlock from any further indignity, to care for him, and to keep him safe. It was only because he recognised that he was becoming compromised that John didn’t spill out a thousand questions he had thought he was fairly certain that Mycroft had all the answers. Those would have to wait. “Sherlock is still legally deceased, Doctor Watson. If you feel uncomfortable offering him medical attention, would you please remain with him until I can secure someone appropriate to see to his needs?”

“You mean a more reliable alpha?” John couldn’t help the thread of anger and the implied insult stung him far more deeply than he could have expected. Sherlock was safe with him except that he wasn’t, not if last night’s behaviour counted against John, and in his view, it ought to. Guilt made him almost snarl, “You don’t have to worry about me, Mycroft. I’m engaged to someone, and I have more than enough self-control to resist bedding an omega while he’s unconscious and unable to say yes.”

Dryly, the elder Holmes said, “Yes, I’d heard about Miss Morstan, though I was surprised that you’d chosen a beta.” Mycroft quickly changed the conversation’s direction, “If you are certain that you are willing to provide Sherlock with medical care I will dispatch one of my people to bring you whatever supplies you require. If I can get away, I will be there myself.” John rattled off a list that included pain-relievers, anti-inflammatories, emergency oral birth-control, and alpha condoms. “My, my, my, Doctor Watson, you are full of surprises.”

“It’s not for me, you arse. Sherlock is going into heat, do you not understand? Does he have an alpha?” John checked Sherlock’s neck and swayed in shock when he saw the bite-mark on Sherlock’s beautiful neck. It was well-healed but ragged, the teeth-marks showed that the flesh had ripped. Most alphas made their bites cleanly so that their dental pattern was clear, this alpha had not. John felt a shameful jealousy because their union was obviously very passionate if they sealed it with such a brutal bite. _Sherlock had chosen someone else while he was gone. Someone had won him over. He was bonded with someone else_. His chest hurt enough to take his breath away. Possessive rage filled him for long seconds before John clawed it back enough to choke out the words, “Who is it? Whoever it is, needs to come here, immediately. You know what he’ll go through if he’s left alone.”

Mycroft sounded unusually gentle when he replied, “Sherlock has no alpha.”

“He’s been bitten.” John snapped out. He was filled with indescribable jealousy and fury. _Who had taken Sherlock? When? Where? What had someone else had that John had not? Why hadn’t Sherlock chosen him? Was this why he’d hidden his omega nature because John wasn’t worthy enough to know?_ John’s heart hurt anew.

“It’s not what it seems, Doctor Watson. That bite was from someone who has been dead for nearly two years now, someone who bonded Sherlock against his will during a fight and tried to force him to be his mate as punishment. Sherlock killed him rather than submit to a force-bond.” John felt hollow now, all his anger and fury evaporating entirely. He looked at the bite again and felt sick. _The alpha had nearly ripped a part of Sherlock’s neck out, that was savagery and not passion_. How could John have ever thought it was otherwise? _Still, Sherlock’s bonding gland had ruptured, and the bond had taken, if briefly. John_ couldn’t deal with all the conflicting and fast-changing feelings he was having. _For one,_ _Sherlock had killed someone, his own alpha. Was it even possible? Second, had Sherlock hidden his omega status on the run or had he been fighting for his bodily autonomy the entire time?_ “Are you still there, Doctor Watson?”

It didn’t matter right then. There were other serious concerns, “Who?” he demanded. _How had Sherlock dealt with the unavoidable chemical aftermath of being bonded and then widowed at the same time? He must have been a mess_. Now John took a harder look at Sherlock and didn’t like what he saw. Sherlock was so thin, so ill-looking, so poorly cared for. He didn’t have spare physical resources. He showed signs of long-term health issues; the bonding/widowing would have played havoc on his internal balances and Sherlock might be suffering permanent damage. He needed extended care, he should be straining himself at all until he was back in balance once more, if it was even possible to achieve. This heat was a danger to him but there was no stopping it.

“Irrelevant, Doctor Watson. Sherlock Holmes needs _care_. He has seriously abused suppressants as well as other pharmaceuticals to make it this far, and he can’t do so any longer without increasing the risk to his life. He needs to go through this heat with _assistance!_ Will you give it to him? If you cannot, then I must regretfully make arrangements for an _alternative_ solution.”

John knew very well what Mycroft was asking, what he was threatening. The elder Holmes was intimating that he would find a different alpha to anonymously service his younger brother in his time of need. It would traumatise Sherlock’s mind to share himself with a stranger, but it would save his body. Toys wouldn’t be enough while the omega was so damaged. Sherlock needed to physically interact with an alpha for his body to stabilise, his injuries demanded it. Freshly produced alpha pheromones would do him more good than denying him. If Sherlock knew and cared for the alpha, it would be more effective and less debilitating in the long run. Part of an alpha’s chemical makeup was the ability to boost an omega’s self-healing capacity and Sherlock desperately needed an alpha. John couldn’t let Sherlock be hurt more than he already was, and he didn’t need to think things over, “You know I will.” Distantly, John thought of his fiancée. _She could never know the truth, but John mentally promised that he’d make it up to Mary somehow._

“Very well, Doctor. Someone will be there within the hour.” The call disconnected. John was left standing there holding the strange phone and staring at the man who used to be the most important person in the world to him. It was ironic that Sherlock had masqueraded as a beta for so long and so successfully. If he hadn’t, John wouldn’t have attempted a relationship with Mary. He would have eventually caved to his biological imperative and allowed himself to be heat-bonded to some needy omega and settled down somewhere to begin breeding and raising pups. Now it was too late. Instead of a bond, John was engaged to someone else.  Helping Sherlock through his heat like he needed would mean betraying a principle that John had always been firm about, _fidelity_.

Sherlock began to wake. All other worries and concerns evaporated as the doctor paid even closer attention to the man beside him. He marked the increase in Sherlock’s breaths, watched his expression as he rose to awareness, and carefully took Sherlock’s wrist in his fingers to measure his pulse. At first, the detective’s eyes fluttered for a moment but then the omega seemed to become instantaneously galvanised, scuttling away from John in the blink of an eye, and standing in the corner of the bedroom, his Cupid bow lips curled back into a snarl, “Don’t touch me!”

John instinctively knelt, demonstrating that he was no threat, projecting his own cloud of pheromones filled with promises of protection. He raised his hands slowly, “Sherlock, it’s John. I won’t hurt you. I won’t ever hurt you.”

Sherlock’s eyes were wild and filled with distrust. Uncertainty flickered over his fine features as he scented the air before his eyes hardened, _“Liar._ You beat me. You _hit_ me. You left me bleeding on the curb and went with _her!”_ He spat out the last word with incredulity laced with pain, “Go away, John Watson. You are not wanted here.” Sherlock’s voice was thick with emotion and he seemed to be smaller than he had been. He was obviously in the beginning throes of full heat when his body would ache, and his primal needs would be overwhelming his higher intellect. If Sherlock felt threatened as well, it would seriously exacerbate the potential negative responses the omega might demonstrate during any attempts at coitus. Sherlock as famous for denying himself things that he needed, he could kill himself by refusing to let an alpha share his heat.

John felt a curl of justified guilt build up inside his gut. It settled in right beside the pain that had been there for two years, the one that was now attached to the strange heat he’d been feeling in his chest all evening. He knew what remorse tasted like now and began to wonder if there was any way of taking back what he had done and doing things right the proper way, “I am sorry, Sherlock. Instead of being grateful for your return I was awful, worse than awful. I swear I won’t hurt you again. I want to check you over, to make sure you’re all right.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, his face filled with scepticism, his voice rough yet cutting, “Why do you care, Watson? Go back to you the one you chose. I don’t need you. I haven’t needed you for two years, not that you care about what I went through. _Obvious_. Leave. Let me bleed in peace. I don’t want you here. Go.” John could still smell blood and he grew confused at Sherlock’s demands. How could he leave when Sherlock was so hurt and in need? John felt remorse over his reactions of just yesterday and was paralyzed with indecision. “Why won’t you just leave?”

“You’re hurt more than from what I did!” John realized suddenly that Sherlock was trying to hide himself from John, to drive the alpha away before something more was revealed. He looked at Sherlock’s bruised face, the swelling he had caused, and then the further lacerations made by the man still unconscious on the street. Shame filled him as John understood that Sherlock had been abused by every alpha he had encountered so far, John included. _No wonder he had disguised himself as a beta. Did all omega go through this every single day?_ John lowered his head, supplicating himself in front of Sherlock, “I’m sorry for my part. I want to make amends. Please let me help you.” How could he ever make up for anything? If he could turn back time he would, he would fall to his knees and rejoice that Sherlock had returned to him instead of laying hands on him.

“No. Get out. No alphas. Not you, John, especially not you.” Sherlock’s eyes were almost crazed now, “You smell wrong and you’re a liar, just like she is. Who is she, John, do you even know? She stinks of untruth. You don’t care. Would you let yourself know? You don’t care that she isn’t who she says she is, not so long as she has a cunt and breasts, that’s how insecure you are, like being with a male somehow makes you weak. Your beta is a liar, John, but I guess that’s perfect for you, you never listen to the truth anyway. Leave. I said leave. I will _end you_ if you try to touch me again.” The omega ranted on, spitting the words out furiously, his eyes glassy, “You can’t have me, only my alpha can have me, and he will _kill_ you if you try to touch me! I need my alpha! BRING HIM TO ME RIGHT NOW!”

Sherlock’s words stung, fanning the flames of doubt that John knew had already been there, and the doctor had to privately admit that Sherlock had hit the mark several times over. The feeling of shame and regret filled him once more, but so did a sense of concern. John had heard of omegas entering a feral state if they were threatened for too long. Sherlock seemed on the cusp of it, and John knew that he was responsible for his share of what had frightened the man. He had to make it right somehow. “Mycroft knows I am here. He’s sending supplies. I’m just here to help you, that’s it. If anyone can bring you your alpha, it’s your brother.” _Was Sherlock aware that his alpha was dead, that he’d killed him himself?_ John wondered now about Sherlock’s sanity.

“You want to fuck me.” Sherlock was blunt, accusing. “You want to bite me and breed me. You’re an animal! You don’t care about me, not really, I’m just a hole for you to use. That’s what your beta thinks. Obvious again. She’s prejudiced but you won’t let yourself see it. She’s jealous because I can give you a dozen pups while she might only ever manage one. Stupid. I don’t want babies. Why does she hate me then just because she does? I’m probably sterile now, how’s that for a laugh? Why do I even bother, you’re not listening again, you’re too busy imagining what it would be like to knot me.”

John flushed with shame again, recalling the thoughts he’d had only the evening before. He couldn’t deny it, “I’m sorry. You’re right. I am an animal. Why should you trust me now when you obviously never have?” John felt bitter but also broken inside. He’d managed to bollox things up entirely with Sherlock, “I’ll go, Sherlock, as soon as the supplies are here. I don’t know why you bothered to come to the restaurant tonight if you don’t want me near you? I’m offensive to you.”

Sherlock hissed, “Mycroft didn’t tell me about _her_. I didn’t know about _her_. How was I to know? I was out of the country, being tortured to save you, but what does that matter? You have your scentless bland boring beta. Go back to her John, don’t pretend to choose me, you chose her already and you’ll stick with it, won’t you? That’s all you want, just to be a stereotype, to be an alpha who breeds, and she wants it too, _the beta who kept an alpha_. Well, you don’t matter to me _now_ , John, you never should have mattered. Maybe I wouldn’t have been tortured if not for you. Maybe I wouldn’t have been force-bonded to a monster if not for you. Maybe I wouldn’t have torn myself in two when I killed him with my bare hands, not that you care, John. You never cared. You never wanted me. You always wanted someone else even though I gave and I GAVE and I GAAAVE…” Sherlock was screeching now, frothing at the mouth as his eyes dilated so much that they were nearly black. “GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!” He was shrieking shrilly but John couldn’t move, so stunned was he by the information he’d been given and by how thoroughly unravelled his once unshakeable friend had become.

“Sherlock!” It was Mycroft. He was standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed on his hysterical younger brother. His voice was soft in a way John had never heard, full of tender concern and support, “I’m here, Billy, I’m here.” John had never heard the nickname before and wondered about it.

“ _Mycroft_ ,” John watched as the omega crumpled as if he’d become a puppet whose strings had been cut. Sherlock’s arms went up, demanding to be held, his posture child-like and distraught. Mycroft walked over quickly, catching the Omega before he collapsed. Sherlock was sobbing into Mycroft’s shoulder, clutching him desperately, shaking with fear. “Help me, brother, I’m not right. It’s all wrong now. My head is all messed up inside, I can’t…everything is _wrong_. I don’t know what I need. I’m missing something. I’ve lost it, help me find it, Mycroft!”

“I will help you, Billy, _John and I_ will. You know John better than he knows himself, and John is here as your doctor, as your friend, and _as anything you need_ , he always has been. He wants to protect you. You know how seriously he takes that job, right Billy? He is _so_ apologetic about his _beastly_ behaviour earlier that he’s agreed _to quit his job_ to devote himself to you, isn’t that right, _Doctor_ Watson?” Mycroft scowled at John, but John scowled right back at Mycroft for putting him this position, but he couldn’t think of a reason powerful enough to refuse. He’d just have to find another clinic after this was all done.

Sherlock still had his face hidden but he sniffled loudly and nodded. Mycroft pet his curls and hugged him gently before saying, “Good boy, now I’m going to sit you onto your nice little bed where your very own Doctor John can have a look at all the places you hurt. Will that be acceptable, Billy?”

Sherlock showed his approval by wrapping his long arms around John’s torso, his entire body filled need. John found himself bending down and kissing the top of Sherlock’s head tenderly, his hands gently pressing the unbruised flesh of Sherlock’s shoulders as he let the omega take comfort in him. With a long shuddering sigh, Sherlock relaxed, murmuring John’s name over and over again under his breath. “Yes, John. My John. I missed you, my John. Help me, John. Where were you? I hurt! The palace is in ruins and nothing is where it’s supposed to be. John?”

John couldn’t help himself, all his reactions were instinctive, “I’m going to help you.” He kissed the top of Sherlock’s head and rubbed his back. Sherlock melted into him even more, his body calming as his thoughts slowed, “There we go, love, I’m here, I’m here my darling,” Sherlock was limp and unresisting now. He sagged back onto his big brother and allowed himself to be set on the edge of the mattress. Sherlock’s eyes were glazed and blank, his face expressionless. He stared out the window and didn’t even seem to recognise that Mycroft was helping John ease off his clothing, leaving him in his pants and socks. John was horrified at what he saw. Not only was Sherlock’s face bruised from John the night before, and not only was there a new bump and a cut on his scalp from the alpha from earlier, but John was devastated to witness the patchwork of pus-filled and infected wounds that covered his back. “What happened?”

Mycroft was grim, and glared balefully at John for a moment, “ _Now_ you ask?” John’s feeling of shame and wrong-footedness were physical. He was going to be ill. Mycroft sniffed contemptuously as he continued, “Sherlock was forced to fake his own death or watch everyone he cared about be killed right in front of him. That number included _you_ , Doctor Watson. After the funeral, Sherlock began to chase down everyone who had even the slightest connection to James Moriarty, destroying the web that had been spun. It took him a year and a half to complete the task, but just as he was coming home, Sherlock was discovered by a criminal organisation who decided to exact retribution against him for no more reason than that they could. It took weeks before I found where they had hidden him, and more weeks before I was able to go in myself and retrieve him. In that time, I can’t fully say what happened to him. His only motivation was coming back to you, he asked after you endlessly. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that you had moved on.”

There was censure in Mycroft’s voice, but John couldn’t blame him. He felt sick inside knowing that Sherlock had suffered for so long and on his behalf. _He was beyond ungrateful_. John loathed his own unworthy response to Sherlock’s incredible sacrifice. “What can I do?”

Once more, Sherlock reached for him and John allowed himself to be pulled into the wordless omega’s embrace. Sherlock was trembling, but it stopped the moment he managed to press his nose against the skin of John’s throat. The omega relaxed once more, almost dozing in John’s arms, a contented purr rumbling through him as Sherlock began to enter a deeper stage of heat. John found himself holding Sherlock protectively, carefully cradling his thin body closely. “Mine,” he purred, snuggling as close as possible, his eyes shut, his face content and relaxed.

Mycroft pleaded sincerely for the first time in John’s memory, “Remain with him for his heat. He can’t have suppressants, not anymore, and even if he could, he’s far too weak. Do not even _hint_ at bonding him but you know what he requires during his time! He needs an alpha to mate with him, but he is in no way strong enough to endure an attempt to bond either, even if it could take naturally. You were his best friend and there is no one else I can trust to not try to force a bond on him. _Give him whatever he needs_ , do I make myself clear, Doctor Watson? Sherlock has only ever asked for you, do not fail him.”

John looked at the scar on his friend’s neck. Sherlock’s bonding gland had been ruthlessly savaged, of course, there would be no second bond for the omega. For some reason, that thought made something howl with grief inside of the soldier. John realized after that he hadn’t even thought of Mary before he made his rapid decision, “Of course.” Now that he had agreed to share Sherlock’s heat with him, he guiltily recalled that he had a fiancée at home. “Er, I have to call…”

“Leave Miss Morstan to me, Doctor Watson. As far as she will know, you will be out of London on a medical emergency for a minimum of two weeks. Sherlock’s heat is unexpected and likely to be fraught with difficulties. His internal body chemistry is highly unstable and has been since he was force-bonded, and the suppressants he took while he was gone have done him no favours. Do not take this lightly, John Watson! My brother’s life and sanity are in your hands.”

John couldn’t help but notice that Mycroft had dropped his honorific. It made him aware that he had agreed because he cared about Sherlock as a person, and not because he had medical skills to offer. “I won’t.” That promise was very easy to make. John had already set aside all the months he had been depressed and suicidal. The knowledge that he _hadn’t_ been left behind, forgotten, or unworthy had supplanted every single negative feeling he had been having, leaving behind some anxiety, a large amount of concern, and a plethora of emotions he couldn’t face. All John knew now was that Sherlock needed him, needed to be kept safe, and that’s why John Watson existed.

Mycroft held out his hand and John automatically understood what was required. He handed over his mobile, not even checking for messages. “Here?” It would be better to undergo heat at a proper medical facility in case Sherlock suffered a serious setback of some kind.

“He doesn’t want to be anywhere else.” Mycroft was serious, “I wanted him to be admitted to a hospital. His bloodwork is incomplete. He won’t submit to an exam. He seems healthy enough to recover from his ordeal, but he is also a master at hiding his hurts.”

John felt the weight of the responsibility being put on him. He had to navigate treacherous waters with the man who made him feel too many things at once. John didn’t even know what to think about Mary, or why Mycroft’s face had presented such a menacing mien when he’d said her name.

Ironically, his mobile vibrated. Mycroft checked, and John was only mildly surprised to see that it was from his fiancée. “Remember, Miss Morstan is no longer your concern.” John felt odd because he was engaged to Mary, but if Mycroft was warning him, then there was obviously more to her than he had ever been able to learn. It made him angry again that he must have missed something tremendously blatant, but Mycroft was supremely unimpressed, reminding him, “You are here exclusively for Sherlock. Do not mistake me, John Watson. If I learn that you have not given my brother 100% of your time and attention, things will go very poorly for you. You will use the mobile I have left with my brother to let me know when his heat is finished, to request supplies or assistance in case of a medical emergency, but nothing else that does not relate directly to the care and maintenance of Sherlock.”

Mycroft wasn’t giving John choices and oddly, it made him relieved. He just had to do what he was told and for John, it was like being back in the military, predictable, almost comforting, and natural. He knew how to take an order, and how to follow through with it. Like a good soldier, John set aside his personal feelings about the situation and got on with it. He had a mission so like the soldier he was, he prepared.

John checked the flat and emailed a shopping list to Mycroft. It was extravagant, but John wanted to be as equipped as possible for all eventualities. Even in the best of circumstances, heats could go wrong, and right now, Sherlock was nowhere near being at his best. He was too thin, too wounded, too mentally unstable to be able to take the stress that he could not avoid, and it was up to John to consider every potential issue before it happened. While he waited for delivery, he drew Sherlock a hot bath, “I’m going to the kitchen to clean the refrigerator. If you need my help, call out. I’m going to ask you to say, ‘I’m okay’ every minute or so, just in case you pass out. I don’t want you to drown in the bath. How embarrassing would that be after all you’ve overcome?”

John didn’t hear the affection in his voice, the concern and tenderness, but Sherlock did and the omega in him responded. Their reunion might have been rocky, but John had always been there to protect and heal Sherlock, and those memories were in greater plenitude than the ones where John hurt him. Sherlock crept out of his room wearing his robe, bare feet silent on the floors as he ghosted to the bathroom and the tub. John listened carefully and heard gentle splashes as Sherlock soaked and washed. His heat would be uncomfortable, a nice soothing soak right off the bat would help mitigate some of the misery.

John scrubbed the kitchen clean and then went into Sherlock’s bedroom to change the bedding, his ears attuned to Sherlock’s regular call-outs. Mrs Hudson had clearly kept up with her _not-your-housekeeper_ efforts because the airing closet had sweetly scented and freshly laundered linen waiting, or perhaps Mycroft had arranged for some things to be waiting. John didn’t ponder too deeply on it, just working hard to make Sherlock’s personal environment as comfortable and welcoming as possible. John remembered to line the mattress with a liquid-repelling sheet before topping it with a dense absorbent pad. Heats were messy, and he didn’t want to spend the next four days changing sheets every three hours.

A polite knock at the door made him suspicious, and cautiously, he answered. There were four people bearing several shopping bags, and one of them was Anthea. For once, she didn’t have a mobile in her hand, but she did step around John to lead her team into the flat where they filled the shelves in the kitchen with edibles, stuffed the fridge to capacity, and hauled up a large rolling cabinet filled with medical supplies including sexual aids. John went over the heat-reducers, pain relievers, ointments, bandages, and other sundries that he wanted on hand to combat any potential medical malady that did not require instant hospitalization. He sighed when he saw the emergency contraceptives, mixing them in with Sherlock’s thick health shake so that ingesting them wouldn’t upset the omega’s delicate constitution.

John heard the tub begin to drain as soon as he was alone again, and two minutes later, Sherlock emerged from the bath looking damply exhausted, his hair still dripping, the extra water soaking the collar of the robe he was now wearing. John helped him to the sofa where he leaned Sherlock up against the back and sides, tucked their old shock blanket around his legs, and helped him take hold of a tall glass containing the densely calorie-rich meal replacement drink he had poured and chilled in the fridge. Sherlock looked grateful and consumed the strawberry flavoured liquid slowly. When John saw he was done, he offered a second one, sans contraceptives, and Sherlock drank that too. The omega’s eyes were drooping but he was at least calm and pliant, all signs of his unease completely absent. He was pliant but still needy, so John willingly allowed himself to be cuddled like a human comfort toy, Sherlock’s long arms holding the smaller alpha close to his torso.

They didn’t seem to need to speak. When Sherlock was ready to move, John provided one last glass of juice to help drink down the pain relievers and other medications that the omega would require. John knew his alpha pheromones were being inhaled, and that they were already triggering the healthful cascade of chemical effects that would encourage the omega to heal himself. Sherlock was finally drowsing, so John helped him back to his bedroom to lay down. Sherlock allowed John to treat his many wounds, falling asleep as the doctor meticulously cleaned, stitched, drained, and bandaged all that he could. Some of the tiny ones were already knitting together before John’s eyes. Omega recuperated quickly when their heat was imminent, their peculiar biology adapted to compensate for the primitive aggressiveness of alphas who frequently caused their mates physical damage from the ferocity of their passions. It took a lot of energy though, so making sure Sherlock ingested as many calories as possible was urgent. John hoped to capitalize on that trait to give Sherlock a better chance of going through it without setting himself back. If the omega didn’t recover completely the John would have no choice but to seek additional medical support via a clinic or hospital, and he knew Sherlock would hate it.

John didn’t get much time to prepare. Though he hadn’t meant to drift off, the early hours of the morning, John startled himself awake. The air was rich with pheromones and instinctively, John sought out the source. He found Sherlock now laying in the centre of his bed, his body writhing, his face flushed, his skin dewy with sweat. “Breed me, alpha.” Sherlock’s voice was husky and deep as he made his demands. “I want it to be you, John.”

“I’m not here to breed you, Sherlock, I’m here to help you through your heat.” John knew that Sherlock would be feeling empty, desperate to be filled by someone. He quickly found an alpha sized dildo and slicked it heavily with artificial lubricant. As soon as he approached Sherlock flipped himself over, and presented his arse, “No, love, I’m not doing it for you, you have to do it yourself.”

 _“Alpha!”_ protested Sherlock with an unhappy whine, “Need!”

“Yes, I know, my love, but I can’t. You know I can’t.” John helped Sherlock grip the massive toy and gasped along with the omega as he hungrily pushed the massive thing into himself with no preparation. Sherlock began to moan right away, flopping to his side as he pumped it in and out, and eventually going onto his back once more, his legs bent up and spread as wide as he could get them so that he could grip his hard cock with one hand and move the dildo with the other. Sherlock was huffing, panting out small cries as he tried to work the big toy into himself, but he was too hazy with lust to coordinate himself, and the omega was becoming distressed. John found himself reaching out and gripping the base of it, working it in and out, making small circles, and responding to every one of Sherlock’s wordless demands.

It took a long time, but John barely noticed, they were both sweating, and Sherlock’s moans had built into long wavering keens. He was using both hands on his cock now, his legs trembling as his body jerked spasmodically. John was beginning to suffer intense arousal and began removing his clothing without thinking of what he was doing. Sherlock had tears flowing down his cheeks, his face red and blotchy with the effort he had expended, “It’s not enough, I can’t come. I need my alpha. I need my John. Why don’t you want me? John, please, I need you so much. Don’t make me wait any more, it’s been years, please? Please? John? Please, I need you in me right now, John, oh god please!”

There was an explosion of scent as the omega did everything in his power to win John over. The room smelled of so many things, the dust and detritus from years of disuse were now becoming saturated in a heady mix of cedar and jasmine, of musk and something dark and faintly reminiscent of formaldehyde. John recognised his own odour mixed in with the lot, noting the hint of the desert he’d picked up when he’d been deployed for so long in the heat of foreign lands. It seemed to match well with the oak and moss base he was known for, the metallic tang of steel and the dusty flavour of gunpowder.

 _Begging. Sherlock was begging for him_. Without further hesitation, John shed the last of his clothing and climbed onto the bed. “John. My alpha. John. Yes, I need you, _my_ John.” Sherlock’s cries were filled with sorrow as well as longing. It made John feel a jumble of hidden emotions deep inside of himself begin to unravel. He knew what Sherlock thought he had lost. _It was him, Sherlock thought that he’d lost John entirely_.

Nothing could be further from the truth, fiancée or not, John was now aware that he’d had a hole inside his heart the entire time he’d thought Sherlock was dead. That he was alive and in front of him right now was a gift, and John couldn’t stop himself from responding. The heat in his chest intensified but it didn’t hurt no matter how hot it burned, “I’m here, Sherlock, I’m here for you.” John cradled the needy omega in his arms, covering his face with tender kisses. Sherlock moaned, clinging to John in a way they’d never shared before, but it felt right. John’s inner alpha revelled in the knowledge that his omega wanted him enough to call out his name and a possessive growled rumbled from his lips, “My amazing omega. You’re the most precious thing in the world to me, my darling.” Endearments tumbled out and each one made the omega croon happily as he was gently stroked and petted.

Omega pheromones rolled off of Sherlock like a heavy wave, crashing into John’s olfactory system, whiting out his higher cognitive functions. He was helpless to resist as Sherlock’s demands effortlessly sliced their way through all of John’s reasons to deny the omega. His cock had never grown so large nor so hard. His knot was already swelling, something that hadn’t happened to John since he’d been a very young man. Sherlock’s pheromones were more powerful than any omega John had ever come across, affecting him to such a substantial degree that he couldn’t think straight, he could only obey. John was utterly under Sherlock’s control. His most primitive instincts began to overtake him once again. Sherlock’s smell was dizzyingly intoxicating. Both men acted out without needing to think about it, and when he next came to himself, John had already mounted Sherlock and was sliding easily into him, the way tight for his fat cock, but so very wet and welcoming.

The omega beneath him was keening in ecstasy so John gave everything else no further thought. “Yes, John, oh yes. Big. Perfect. So very big.” Sherlock sounded almost agonised, but he was pushing his arse back, his slick increasing further in volume, allowing John to enter him almost effortlessly. Sherlock was clearly relieved, and his appreciation spurred John onward. Soon, they were moving in marvellous synchronicity, their bodies working together as they chased their first shared orgasms. He licked and kissed Sherlock everywhere he could reach, stroking over the damaged flesh of his lover’s body with care and tenderness.

It didn’t stay tender for long. Sherlock demanded more and more. John had never fucked anyone like this and it was mind-blowing. He’d never been with someone where he hadn’t need to move with caution, prepared to pull out the moment he was too much for his lover. Sherlock wanted every inch, demanding that John bury himself right up to his knot as hard as he could. John’s alpha took complete control and he was gone. “I need you, my alpha, been waiting so long for you. Yes, yes my beautiful John.” Both of them orgasmed soon after, their limbs trembling as John spent deep inside Sherlock’s eager body. Nothing else mattered.

 


	3. Remorse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is trying to do the right thing but he can't seem to manage it.

Four days went by in a lustful haze. John barely remembered himself enough to ensure that Sherlock kept drinking the thick pre-packaged energy shakes between bouts, and to make himself gulp down water and a bite or two of fruit before the urge to mate overwhelmed them again. John did his best to control his alpha instincts to remember the condoms, but it was difficult, especially since they’d gone without during that first amazing round. The oral contraceptives should be enough, but it was the mess he was trying to prevent. Sherlock wasn’t likely to get pregnant but that didn’t mean that John had to expose him to any risk whatsoever or to sleep in a puddle of cooling spunk. Sherlock needed help and not more hindrances.

Sherlock’s neck was the next most potent temptation. More than once John found his mouth over the old scars on Sherlock’s neck but managed to keep himself from sinking his teeth in. The first time it happened, Sherlock went rigid with fear, but John licked and kissed at the ragged marks apologetically and made himself nibble his way down Sherlock’s shoulder instead. The omega had relaxed slowly but the next time John forgot himself, Sherlock didn’t even flinch. Instead, he pressed his neck harder against John’s teeth each time John knotted him and moaned softly as John tongued the scarred area repeatedly but didn’t bite. The region grew hot and flushed, and a bit swollen with all the attention. Sherlock relaxed completely after that, and John felt proud that his omega trusted him so implicitly that he kept licking the region almost compulsively, revelling in the happy purr it produced from the omega he knotted himself to.

Sherlock improved physically by the hour. All throughout the heat, his body knitted together, his movements less strained as their combined dynamic did what they were evolved to do – help one another. John seemed to have an inexhaustible source of energy, all of which he expended on Sherlock’s behalf, and Sherlock seemed endlessly needy for John’s attentions. They were born to be with one another, so every moment of the heat was like living in a fantasy come true. They read each other’s bodies effortlessly, exchanging pleasure, and working together to reach new heights. It was brilliant.

On the morning of the fifth day, John knew it was over. He woke before Sherlock and inspected the omega from head to toe. All his wounds had sealed over and were mostly healed, even the worst ones on his back. Sherlock no longer bore the rank stench of rotting flesh and infection but instead smelled alluringly of a combination of himself as well as his doctor. He was almost glowing. His scent was almost as dizzying an odour as the smell of Sherlock in full heat, almost as if they were a properly bonded pair, though John knew they would never be no matter how much Sherlock smelled like him right then. It was gloriously harmonious and gave him feelings he knew he should not be catering to.

John fetched a basin, some scent neutralising soap, and a soft flannel, giving Sherlock a gentle sponge bath, dabbing his delicate skin until he was clean, obliterating their combined scent regretfully. Utilizing all the skills he’d gained while doing medical work for the military, John managed to change the sheets, despite the fact that his omega was still completely insensate. It would be hours before Sherlock was able to be roused from his much-needed slumber. He looked peaceful and at ease for the first time, and John could not stop running the warm damp flannel over his body.

When he was done, John sat on the edge of the bed, staring at Sherlock as he slept. Suddenly, John felt supremely guilty for removing all trace of their union. He felt even guiltier when he thought of Mary, the feeling causing him to check himself over for incriminating marks and to scrub himself down one more time to get rid of any telling scents. He agonised over it all while he did so. _He’d cheated on his new fiancée. He’d take Sherlock harshly many times over._ The room reeked of sex, of _them_ , and it made John feel like he was being torn in two even more than previously. He knew he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stay here and look after Sherlock, not without compromising himself even more than he already had. He couldn’t have both Mary and Sherlock, and he’d already entered a union with one. Holding back tears, John dragged out the new mobile and sent his apologies to Mycroft, “I am so, so sorry but I can’t stay with him. It’s too much. He’s much better now but he will need monitoring.”

Mycroft wasn’t subtle in his reply, “I am incredibly disappointed in you, Doctor Watson, but never fear. I will see to it that my brother receives the best possible care.”

John felt lower than dirt as he crept out of the flat, his chest filled with cold emptiness. He told himself that he was doing the right thing but saying so didn’t make him feel better. The city looked grey and flat, all the colour faded. Anthea was there, and she looked so blank that John couldn’t have felt more judged if she’d spat on him. She handed back his mobile, making sure not to touch him, as if he were contaminated or filthy. John felt like the embodiment of dishonour, but he walked away all the same. _It felt like the wrong choice but how was it fair to Mary if he remained with Sherlock? He’d promised her marriage, and with that, implicit fidelity. He had broken part of his promise already, but he didn’t need to keep breaking his word. Sherlock couldn’t bond, so John could never truly be his. He needed to go back to Mary and salvage the life he’d begun to build with her._ Avoiding eye-contact with anyone outside, John made his way to the Tube and back to his house in the suburbs in a daze of misery.

When John walked into his house he wished he hadn’t left Baker Street. He missed the alluring smell of Sherlock so much that it felt like a physical loss. It made him feel that the incredible omega was truly his, even though it was a lie. Pushing open the door to his house, John stopped moving the moment the door closed behind him. He smelled _Claire de Lune_ , as always but it wasn’t heavy enough to cover the other smells he could make out. They were pungent and distinctive. Disbelieving as well as incredulous, John followed the trail right to the bedroom. The noises within were as unmistakable as the smells in the air but that didn’t stop him from being stunned when he pushed the door open and witnessed Mary mid-orgasm.

His naked fiancée was riding someone energetically, her hips jerking as she came, her back toward her lover, her eyes closed in ecstasy as her breasts bounced wildly. John could smell another alpha and the faint scent of suppressants that had long since worn off. He knew that smell. _David. It was David and he was clearly capable of penetrating Mary because his cock was inside of her almost to his knot._ The room smelled heavily of ejaculate, so this wasn’t the first round, not by a long shot, and the scent was amplified by a fresh addition of genetic material, his orgasm heralded by Mary’s triumphant sigh as her lover filled her to overflowing.

They were so lost to their senses that it took almost an entire minute of silent outrage before David smelled the fury coming from John who stood silently in the doorway watching another man’s semen gush from his fiancée as he pulled out. Mary was smiling and giggling a bit, but David was craning around her torso to stare at John in shock and horror, “Oh my god,” he whispered.

“Good, I know.” Mary sighed happily, still not seeing John by the door, “This reminds me of that time I took John to Suffolk and he never noticed that you were in the room next door so when he went to his conference we shagged in your room for the entire day and then…” David nudged Mary hard and now she saw. Her jaw dropped, and she scrambled off of him, David’s ejaculate sliding down the inside of her thigh to pool near her foot. Absently, John realized that it would stain their throw carpet, and then wondered if it had been stained previously and that he just hadn’t noticed the smell due to the preponderance of perfume Mary normally wore, “John, it’s not what it looks like, it’s not what you think…”

“Really?” John asked, “It looks like you’re fucking your ex-boyfriend in _our_ bed, and it sounds like you’ve never stopped fucking him.”

Mary looked surly, ignoring her own nudity, and the fact that she had a lover completely exposed, his large cock shrinking fast as John glared at him. He had every right to beat David to death, and David knew it. The only thing stopping John was the fact that he’d also cheated on Mary. She didn’t know but that didn’t give John any moral high-ground. “It’s not like you’ve ever noticed.”

“So, me trusting you makes this okay? Were you ever going to tell me?” Mary looked mulish and David looked like he wished he could evaporate on the spot, completely incapable of moving, just staying there covered in come, sweat, and embarrassment.

Mary sighed, and pulled on a short robe, using a damp towel from a pile on the floor to mop her thighs off, “Look, John, I know you were with Sherlock this week, so why not just go with it. I’ll keep David, you keep Sherlock, and we’ll all be happy, alright?”

“No,” John was shaking his head, “No, that’s not alright. That’s far from alright. This is not what I want in a marriage, Mary. I wanted you and me to be _together_ forever, not sharing each other with different people.”

“What about Sherlock?” Mary sounded sly, “I bet he’d go for it. He’d take anything he can get from you, shameless they are, you know it. He might even like to give David a go, and I know David wouldn’t mind that either. Maybe we could just, you know, be together as a group.”

John felt like vomiting. Sherlock would _hate_ an arrangement like that but now John’s stomach settled. He wouldn’t have to decide between Sherlock and Mary, not now. Mary had made this choice easy for him. “No, he wouldn’t. The only reason he even allowed me near him is because he would have died otherwise. If I’d been his before this I _never_ would have been with you, not for a minute. Sherlock is possessive, jealous, clingy, and demanding. He’d never share and would never agree to be shared. I thought I was doing the right thing by coming back here because even though I love him. I made you a promise, and I had meant to keep it. I would have spent my entire life devoted to you because I told you I would. Were you dying, Mary? Was David giving you his alpha pheromones to save your life like I was saving Sherlock’s?” Both of them looked abashed, and stared anywhere than at John or one another, “It’s over between us, Mary. Obviously, we can’t trust each other, not about this. _If_ you can’t give David up, okay, you _haven’t_ given David up, then why should I make Sherlock have only part of me?  You’ve been betraying me this entire time, and here it is: it’s all or nothing, Mary, that’s what marriage means to me. It’s just like a bond – neither of us should be able to cheat.” He knew he wasn’t even slightly attracted to the naked woman in front of him, not any longer.

Mary looked furious, “We are _engaged_ , John, don’t tell me you’re dumping me over something so insignificant? People cheat. They work it out. They move on. It’s a minor glitch.”

_“Minor?_ Why did you even agree to marry me?” John shouted, “And you,” he glared at David, “Lowlife fucking _poacher_. Why’d you let me date her if you were still having it off with one another?”

“Look, John, I’m a modern alpha, I don’t feel threatened by Mary’s independence or appetite.” David tried to sound reasonable, “If it’s about the baby, I’m completely willing to let you raise it. I don’t want pups, but I do want Mary, no matter how.”

“Baby?” John stared at Mary, shocked even more. How out of it had he been all these months? Of course, the perfume. She wore it to mask not only her affair but her state of being. “You’re pregnant? Who’s is it?”

“Yours.” Mary insisted.

“Mine?” John didn’t bother hiding the fact that he was highly sceptical, “I’ve never been _in_ you, David’s spunk is still leaking out of you, and you want me to believe your baby is mine? You’re going to have to provide some pretty solid evidence for me to believe that one. Goodbye, Mary, we’re done. I never should have left Sherlock this morning. He deserves better, unlike you. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

She came to him, her face a mess of tears, her arms extended as if to embrace him. John held back a stomach-churning retch and stepped away from her. “John, no! I love you, John, don’t leave me! We can work this out, I’m clean, David is clean, we’re normally more careful than this but I know you helped Sherlock through his heat and I just wanted someone to be with. _I needed comforting!”_

“Comforting? You’ve been cheating on me with your ex the entire time we’ve been together. Has our relationship been so awful that you needed to be fucked by someone else on a regular basis? It makes me sick because I’ve been having David’s sloppy seconds for months now!”

Mary began to scream angrily, “Well, you didn’t have a problem sticking your cock into Sherlock, and he’s been fucking strangers for years now, I bet! All those omega reek like the whores they are, they’ll let anyone fuck them anywhere, everyone knows that. _Consulting Detective_ my arse, Sherlock pretends to be a detective when we all know he’s just fucking clients for money. He’s a rent-boy, that’s it, that’s all he’ll ever be, he can’t help it, he’s an omega! He’s made to be fucked, all he wants is to be fucked, nothing else matters to him. No omega has the brains to be even close to clever. All they can do is make babies.”

Mary’s face was unattractively flushed, and suddenly, John had had enough. “He said you were prejudiced and that I just didn’t want to see, and once again, he was right. I didn’t want to see. Now I understand why you always vetoed omegas who applied to be on our staff, and why you treat Dr Sawyer with such disrespect. I thought you were just jealous because we used to date. You’re a horrible person, Mary. Now that I think on it, I never did ask you to marry me, you just put on the ring and sat right back onto David’s prick. Well, continue fucking yourselves, I’m gone.”

“John, no! John, I love you! John! Don’t leave me, I can’t bear it.” Mary was crying now, and it didn’t improve her appeal one jot. Ignoring them both, John pulled out his army duffle and stuffed it with all his clothing. He had a single rolling suitcase, and he filled that with all his memorabilia and other sentimental items. There was no reason to think he could trust her to leave his possessions unharmed. John left behind everything that he’d shared with Mary and left the suburbs as Mary screeched at him on the streets still wearing only her robe. The neighbours got an eyeful of David trying to pull her back inside, a small towel around his hips, and all of them looked uncomfortable when they realized what the situation was. Suddenly, John wasn’t being glared at by anyone, they were all staring at Mary and David.

John felt the fool the entire way back to Baker Street. He had thought he’d loved Mary and that she’d loved him in return. Now he knew that this wasn’t the case at all. Feeling sick, he went to the clinic and had his blood drawn, hoping against hope that he hadn’t gotten anything from his ex-fiancée and that if he had, that he hadn’t given it to Sherlock. It felt like an eternity had passed before he made it back to 221 B Baker Street, dragging his meagre possessions behind him.

“Doctor Watson,” Mycroft was literally growling. John felt instantly chastened, and if he’d had a tail, it would have been firmly tucked between his legs. “Why are you here?”

John felt horrible. _He never should have left Sherlock, or at the very least, he should have left a note, a text, something._ “I got my things.” _Partial truth_. John dropped the heavy duffle by the door, “I ended it. It’s over between Mary and me.” _More truthful but not completely._

Sherlock could see that John was hiding something more and simply turned his face away to sob into his brother’s shoulder. John could smell that Sherlock’s physical health had returned but that his emotional state was in tatters. John’s knees quivered for a moment and his chest throbbed. “You _left_ him.” Mycroft was very angry. “I told you not to bother with Ms Morstan, she wasn’t your problem any longer.”

“I’m an arse.” John walked over and dropped to his knees in front of the obviously aggrieved omega, “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I never should have left without talking to you first, I should have at least waiting until you woke up instead of leaving you alone. I haven’t been thinking straight since you got back, fuck, since you left. I’m a jerk, a cad, and just…I’m the worst alpha in the world.” John looked up at Sherlock and his heart ached for the misery he saw there, the misery that he had caused, “I don’t know what I was thinking, or if I was even thinking at all. I don’t know why I say or do anything these days, all I know is that here with you is where I ought to be, and if you’ll permit it, I’d like to do exactly that.”

“I can’t trust you, John.” Sherlock wouldn’t look at him.  He didn’t sound broken and confused the way he had before his heat. Sherlock sounded like himself, like the Sherlock he remembered from years past except with such personal pain in his voice. “You’ve hurt me physically and now you’ve just hurt me. Do I deserve this? Why?”

John hated himself. _Why indeed? Why had he struck Sherlock to begin with? Why had he crept away instead of staying as he promised? Why was it so hard for him to just tell Sherlock the truth?_ “I have no excuses. I understand, Sherlock, I don’t deserve you, not a bit.”

“No, you don’t,” Mycroft said sharply. “I think you should just go.” Sherlock didn’t say anything. He was curled up into a tight ball and John saw his shoulders shaking as he wept further. John hated himself.

John got to his feet. “I understand, I don’t blame you.” Turning stiffly, John walked back to the doorway, picked up his bags, and lurched down seventeen steps until he was at the front door. He had no place to go but that was his own fault and no one else’s. He was weak and honourless. He couldn’t keep his word to his fiancée and couldn’t keep his word to his lover. John left.

His duffle was heavy enough to dig into his shoulder, but John didn’t complain. He had no right to. _He should have stayed today just like he’d promised. Instead, he’d run like a coward only to learn that the woman he thought he loved didn’t love him as deeply as he’d hoped._ John just didn’t understand it. Why David was probably already done _comforting_ her and was likely enjoying a glass of the expensive whiskey that John had noticed in the cupboard but had not purchased. Suddenly, he was angry again. _Why start a relationship with him when she was still with David? What was the point of hiding a second relationship when there were poly-relationships everywhere? If that’s what Mary was into she should have just said and allowed everyone involved to make an informed decision._

John felt like a fool _and_ an idiot. He walked for an hour before he called another cab. He checked his wallet but his credit card wasn’t in it. Cursing, John recalled that Mary had used it to order some bedding and he doubted that she would give it back without more fuss. He’d have to cancel it tomorrow, but it meant that he could not get a hotel tonight. He didn’t have much more folding cash on him, so he found an ATM on the way and withdrew the maximum amount allowable. John divided it into three parts, kept some in his wallet, some in his duffle, and some in his left sock. He’d been around the world enough to know that a person on the street was a target, and he had to prepare himself for the possibility that he might be out on the street for good. He’d burned every bridge he’d had. John was so unhappy. Everything in his life had changed from being full of healing hopefulness to complete emotional disaster.

It began to rain. There was no place dry to hunker down that didn’t already have someone in it, and no one was inviting him to share their meagre space. It was humiliating but John searched his contacts for a number he hadn’t called in ages. “Hello, Sarah?”

One hour later he was sitting on the familiar Lilo and holding a steaming cup of tea. Sarah sat on a plush chair, her back straight, and her face calm. John noticed the ring on her finger even as he scented her pregnancy on the air. A bit of a mark was showing above her robe collar, confirming what he’d sensed. Sarah was mated, expecting, and married to boot. “Carl is at work for another six hours, so you can sleep here until then. He’s not going to be happy to smell that you’ve been here, so you’d better be straight with me. What’s going on, John?”

“Sherlock’s back.” John stated stiffly, “I've managed to completely ruin everything and now I’m essentially homeless.”

“I thought you’d bought that little house…he came back, I saw the news. I thought you two…” Sarah looked confused, “Where is Sherlock now?”

“He’s at Baker Street.” John looked down at his knees, “I’m just such a mess.”

“He moved back to Baker Street?” Sarah’s head cocked to the side, “Who left who, John? I don’t think I properly understand what is going on. I’d heard you’d moved to the suburbs and when he came back I just assumed Sherlock was with you? I mean, I’d heard about the thing at Bart’s but I just assumed it was a stunt for a case. You two were always doing outrageous things.”

“Well, it was a stunt, but I legitimately thought he had died,” John’s brow wrinkled, “I was living with my girlfriend.”

“You had a _girlfriend?_ Did Sherlock know? How could you, John?” Sarah looked completely scandalised, “How could you step out on your bond-mate?”

Now John was confused. _Bond-mate?_ “Mary wasn’t my bond-mate, she’s a beta, we were going to get married,” John began to explain.

“I’m not talking about whoever that woman was, John, I’m talking about Sherlock Holmes, _your bond-mate!”_

“What, _Sherlock?”_ John was shaking his head in denial. “We weren’t. I thought he was a beta, we couldn’t bond.”

Sarah looked entirely muddled, “Yes, you can, you were emotionally pair-bonded to Sherlock, everyone could see it. I mean, yeah, he was a beta but it was so obvious that you two had been as good as bonded for ages, I just assumed it happened right after you and I called it quits. John…do you not know that you could do that? It doesn’t even require a bite, oh my god, you didn’t know!”

John squirmed uncomfortably, embarrassed that he didn’t know something so basic. _Was it true? “_ Sherlock’s actually an omega but I didn’t know that until recently. He’s been hiding his true nature to enable him to live his life as he pleases, and not under the expectations made of omegas. He never wanted to be pair-bonded with anyone.” She looked both disbelieving as well as sympathetic, but only for a moment, “I understand that now, but Sarah, when I thought he was dead, I would have given anything to have him back and him being a beta didn’t matter to me. That was the only reason I was with Mary because I thought if I could love a beta like Sherlock, then betas weren’t out of the question for me. We weren’t physically compatible,” Sarah blushed because she knew _exactly_ what he was referring to and only her physiology as an omega had made it possible for her to temporarily mate with John. They’d never managed outside of heat. “But that didn’t matter to me, we were good together, or I thought we were.”

Now Sarah was the one looking uncomfortable, her omega status obvious, and her memory of the heat they had shared still clear in her mind, “Be that as it may, John, everyone who knew you thought the same thing. We all thought you and Sherlock had pair-bonded but now you’re saying you didn’t, and that you were with someone else when he came back. Now you expect Sherlock to just _what_ , go on with you like nothing happened, _and_ he’s an omega to boot? He sees you as his alpha. Even when you thought he was a beta, you treated him like your omega. I’m not sure what you want from me regarding this?”

She was right to feel uncomfortable as well as confused. John himself couldn’t articulate his issues nor formulate the questions he needed to ask. He sighed, his shoulder’s slumping, “Can I sleep here tonight? I’ll start looking for a flat tomorrow.” He’d have to arrange for another dismal bedsit. The chances of finding another flat on short notice were almost zero.

Sarah sighed, clearly exasperated with John. “Explain to me why you are here and not on Baker Street?”

John’s face turned red as he confessed, “Sherlock went into heat. He’d been bonded to someone else very briefly years ago, but his alpha died almost immediately, it disrupted Sherlock’s personal chemistry, _and_ he’s been on suppressants for far too long.” Sarah nodded her understanding, she knew full well that the longer an omega was on suppressants, the harder it was on their bodies. “I stayed with him but the minute it was over, I snuck away and went back to Mary only to learn that she’s been sleeping with her ex-boyfriend again, or rather, still. I ended it with her but by the time I went back to Sherlock, he was too angry with me to accept me back, and I don’t blame him.”

“I don’t either. You’re a total arse, John.” Sarah was glowering at him, “I used to think you were a stand-up man, John, but I’m beginning to doubt it now. Let me get this straight. You’ve never been bonded to Sherlock, but you treated him like your mate in public so often that everyone who saw you thought you were a proper couple, even me. John, you grieved like he was your mate when you thought he committed suicide. Now, to recap, he came back to life but instead of going back to him, you got engaged to someone you admit you can’t even really be with, shared his heat _despite_ your engagement, then _abandoned him_ when he was at his most emotionally and physically vulnerable, then came here, and asked that I give you a place to stay while you make plans to run away some more. Is that all?”

“Mary is pregnant and says that it’s mine.” John looked down in shame, “I have my doubts though, what if it’s her boyfriend’s? Still, I can’t just let her have my baby alone if it isn’t.”

_“John Hamish Watson, what is wrong with you?”_ Sarah literally threw her hands in the air with frustration, “Fine. Stay tonight, but first thing tomorrow, forget about finding a new place to stay. You are being entirely idiotic. What you are going to do is go back to Baker Street and beg Sherlock on your hands and knees to take you back.” Her hands were on her hips as she shouted some more, “I can’t believe you, John! You two belong together, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes and a functioning nose! Even _if_ Sherlock had truly been a beta, he’d _still_ be better suited to you than anyone else, honestly John, how can you be so tremendously blind to this? You two were practically made for one another but you chose someone else instead!?”

Sarah was nearly shrieking now, her face an unattractive shade of pink that clashed with the orange of her hair. John felt like a small boy being scolded harshly by his mum. “But if there’s a baby…”

“John, you don’t even know for sure that there _is_ a baby, that if there is one that it’s actually _yours_ , and never mind that! How can you consider walking away from Sherlock Holmes? Even when we were dating it was clear that you and he had real chemistry between the two of you. Pull your head out of your arse and fix this.” Sarah stormed away, angry tears in her eyes, but still yelling at him as she marched off to her bedroom. She stomped back out, shaking her finger at him as she asked, “Also, people with children separate all the time, it’s not unheard of, unlike your ex-fiancée! If Mary was so important to you, why didn’t any of your friends know her? Answer _that_ , John Watson.”

John jumped as her door slammed loudly. He hadn’t expected to be dressed down so completely, or at all in fact. Now, John sat on the Lilo and began to think about what Sarah had said and what it all meant. The more he thought about it, the more foolish he felt. It really was obvious. He did care for Mary, but nothing like he cared for Sherlock _so why was it so important to him to try and hang onto that relationship but not the one that meant more to him?_ What was wrong with his mental processes?

John continued to mull things over, not laying down, or even getting comfortable. He just sat there until three in the morning when he put his coat and shoes back on, left Sarah a thank-you note for the use of her space and for her input, and an apology to her alpha for the intrusion. John then slipped back onto the streets of London and made his way back to Baker Street. When he knocked on the door, there was no answer. He texted Sherlock but received no reply. John might have thought the flat was empty except for the sore-thumb of a vehicle that was Mycroft’s government approved transportation parked directly in front of the building. The Holmes brothers were inside but ignoring John.

He went around the back of the building, dug out the key that Mrs Hudson left behind the loose brick in the garden wall, let himself in, and walked up to the flat with his heart in his throat. He pushed the inner door open and stepped in only to be rocked back as a very bony fist smashed right into his nose, breaking it sharply. “You are not welcome here, Doctor Watson.” Another punch was quickly delivered, this one neatly bruising his entire right ocular region. John didn’t defend himself. He deserved it all.

“Mycroft, cease.” Sherlock’s voice drifted weakly from inside the flat, “Let him in.” Mycroft dropped his fists, but his eyes never left John. They were the only part of him that moved, the rest of his body disturbingly still as John made his way forward. It was undignified to need a tissue to mop the blood from his now misshapen nose, and the pain was fairly awful, but John couldn’t be bothered to do more. He was filled with dismay at the sight before him. Sherlock was seated on the sofa and he looked horrid. The lovely glow was gone, and instead, he looked feverish and ill, his eyes dull, dark coloured patches blooming beneath them, and his brow dewy with sweat. He was wearing sleepwear, a dark blue robe covering him down to his calves, the waist tied tightly shut. John scented the air and it smelled off as if something had soured, and he wondered why he couldn’t breathe in Sherlock’s delicious smell, “Why are you here, Watson?”

John winced as Sherlock addressed him formally. Mindful of the words Sarah had shouted at him, John dropped to his knees and looked up at Sherlock imploringly, “I am absolutely wrong about everything, all my choices, all my actions, just everything, and I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.  You’ve always called me an idiot, and I am. If you seriously don’t want me back in your life I will respect that, but I can’t stop looking out for you, or worrying about you, or…or…or loving you. I love you, Sherlock. I’m so sorry that it took so long for me to just understand what it was I was feeling and why, and I can’t even explain why I thought I could live with anyone else for the rest of my life. I suppose that I always assumed that I’d be the last person you’d ever settle for, I’m nothing compared to you. You’re amazing, you always have been, and I have never deserved the honour of being your partner, but I’m going to be grateful forever that you allowed it, even if it’s over now.”

John felt so stupid. He never should have hesitated in choosing Sherlock over Mary. “I should have come home the day you showed up. I should have told you then what everyone around me already knew, even Mary, fuck, _especially_ Mary. I was only ever with her because she decided that she wanted to help raise me up after I was low for so long. God, I fucking missed you so much but I was angry and confused, and my thoughts just kept milling around, and nothing made sense so I just kept doing what I always did, and of course, I fucked up!” John met Sherlock’s eyes, his own filled with penitent tears. “I will always love you, Sherlock, more than anything or anyone. I’m always going to be ready to risk my life for you, to take a bullet for you, and to do everything in my power to keep you happy. I’d never promise to make you safe though, because we don’t do safe, never have.”

Sherlock looked down at him solemnly for a long time, silently considering John’s words. John’s knees hurt as he knelt, but he’d stay there until he died if that’s what Sherlock wanted. Mycroft didn’t need to bother looming threateningly behind John, but the doctor supposed it gave the older man something to do while they both waited for Sherlock’s decision, “How do I trust you, John? You made promises to others and broke them. You made promises to me and you broke those too. Your word doesn’t seem to mean much, so how do I know?”

John’s lower lip wobbled because Sherlock was entirely correct. _His word was garbage_. “You don’t, I guess. I’ll have to earn your trust back one day at a time. All I can say is that I’m entirely yours whether you decide to have me or not. I will continue to be yours until the end of my days, even if you send me away, even if you decide to be with someone else, it won’t change it. It hasn’t changed. You were _dead,_ and I loved you still. That’s all that there is of me, now, my love for you.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes so hard the neighbours could probably feel his disbelief, “Oh, please, Doctor Watson. Those are very pretty words but then, you were always good with pretty words. What you aren’t good at is _keeping them_.”

“I know, I’m complete trash.” John looked down at the floor. He felt so helpless, he’d made all of those idiotic choices on his own and now he would have to live with the consequences forever. “Sherlock, all I can do is begin again right now, right this instant. I love you. I will be here for you for the rest of my days. I’ll do anything you want, any way you want, for as long as you want. My life is entirely within your control. There will never be anyone else for me, not ever, not even if I never get to see you again. I love you, Sherlock, and you will always be my omega whether we can bond or not, the person I care about more than anyone, the person I will go to any length for, and the person I would rather die over than be without again.”

He didn’t know what else he could say. Anything he could think of just seemed lacking. John might have been a blogger who’d attracted some attention at one time but when it came to the spoken word, he’d often had to rely on speaking his mind in other ways. Moving slowly but purposefully, John moved until he was right in front of Sherlock, sinking to his knees, head down and to the side, baring his neck and submitting to the man he could never stop loving. Sherlock was shocked, “What are you doing?”

John bent himself lower. Omega did this sometimes. It was instinctual for them, a way of letting their alpha know that they had been claimed, of letting others know who had claimed them utterly. “You _are_ my omega, Sherlock, but I am not your master or superior. I never could be, and honestly, I would never want to be. I am here for you to use however you want, as long as it makes you happy. I will be your alpha in any manner you decide is most fitting, and I will follow your command until my final breath leaves my body.” Not even marriage could signify the depth of this commitment.

“John.” There was marvel in Sherlock’s voice, “Are you certain?”

“Yes.” No more words were needed. Suddenly, the room blossomed once again, rich with the pungent complexity of Sherlock’s natural scent. The foul stench of illness and despair was pushed away and replaced by it. The doctor breathed it in, tears filling his eyes as he recognised the gift he was being given. When John dared to raise his eyes to view Sherlock, he saw that the visual signs of illness draining away. The fever was obviously gone, and Sherlock was already looking flush with health. Sherlock may not have verbally taken John back, but his body was recognising his alpha’s legitimacy and sending out as many signals as it could manage to let that alpha know that he was ecstatic. _All was not lost. Sherlock was getting better and maybe things would work out._

John knew he was being given more miracles than he’d ever hoped to deserve. Humbly, bent forward even deeper, pressing his forehead to the floor, not rewarding himself with further sight of his omega until he’d been given permission. He would treat Sherlock like the benevolent angel he was; Sherlock Holmes was the most incredible person John had ever had the fortune to know, and he would never cease worshipping him and counting every moment in his presence as a blessing. “Till my last breath,” he promised and fell completely still, waiting for an order.

Sherlock frowned, “John?” John simply knelt there, unable to move even an inch. “Mycroft, he’s gone all funny, and not in an amusing way. What is happening?”

Suddenly John found himself being closely examined by the elder Holmes. John didn’t resist as his eyes were checked, his neck gently palpated, and his pulse taken. “You two never make things simple,” he groused. “John’s in an alpha version of subspace. He’s submitted himself entirely to you. At this depth, he’s practically a hair’s width away from needing you to command him to keep breathing. He’s turned all his free will over to you as a gesture of willing subservience.”

John could hear Sherlock’s breathing grow a bit ragged. _Was he excited? Was this making him happy?_ John hoped it did. He had absolutely nothing else of value left to offer. _Living without Sherlock or trading his free will? There was no choice to make, John wanted Sherlock to have him so completely that the omega would know to his bones that John could not exist without him. If Sherlock truly would not have him, then John would keep himself away, and go live someplace out of the way but close enough that he could ensure that Sherlock was okay, out of sight, of course._ John remained absolutely still, waiting for his omega to recognise his ownership and dominion of John. “Subservience? I don’t want a slave! I want John Watson!” Sherlock was kneeling in front of John now, “Snap out of it, Watson. This is a terrible look for you, what would Anderson say if he saw this? Answer me?”

John was still down deep but managed to respond to the part of the unintentional command he’d been given that was within his scope, “These days, Anderson would likely be on the floor next to me, hoping that you’ll allow him to serve you as I would.”

A long thin finger forced John to raise his gaze to meet Sherlock’s, “Don’t do this, John. This is not what I want from you, not what I want for us.”

“Yes, it is. You’ll never trust me otherwise. I’m no good. I’m old and broken. I’m feckless and untrustworthy. I’m a slag and a brute. Every relationship I’ve ever had has taught me that I’m never going to be enough for someone. I’m not anywhere near your level, Sherlock. I can never stop loving you, but I’ll never deserve you.”

A thread of distress was re-entering Sherlock’s scent, “Mycroft, what can I do?”

Mycroft checked John again, and passively, the alpha let it happen. “If bonding were possible…”

“It’s not, and even if it were, I’ve just had my heat. I won’t have another one for two months at minimum, more likely four. It’s difficult to parse due to my…issues.” Sherlock sounded like this was the last conversation he wanted to have, “He can’t stay like this, Mycroft, it’s not right.”

“We underestimated the stress and damage done to Doctor Watson. You weren’t the only one to suffer. He doesn’t even know about Ms Morstan yet.” _Mary? What about Mary?_ John’s curiosity was piqued enough to almost cause him to react independently. He didn’t, but it had been close.

“Why didn’t you intervene earlier? Why not tell _me?_ Why _anything_ , Mycroft? Is keeping secrets so very important to you, even when they shouldn’t be kept? Look at what it’s all come to. Was the endgame worth this cost?” Sherlock sounded angry and upset at the same time.

Mycroft’s response was swift, “Yes. Unequivocally _, yes!”_

_“Look at John,”_ roared Sherlock, “Look at _me!_ We’re a wreck. Together we don’t even add up to one functional person, we’re a mess! How is that worth it?”

Mycroft snapped, “If you hadn’t gone off to destroy Moriarty’s organisation under the guise of your own death then England along with many other countries, would have fallen beneath the Spider’s control right after the death of everyone you ever held dear. You are my only brother and I love you more than I can ever show. I have nothing but respect for what John means to you _, but I would let you both die if it meant assuring that hundreds of millions of other people lived_.”

_Hundreds of millions?_ John’s mind was moving faster. _Sherlock had saved billions of people? “_ They tortured me, Mycroft. I’m scarred. I might be barren. I can’t bond with the man I love. John’s as good as catatonic and he’ll stay that way forever because of that. What do I do?” John felt a warm drip of something fall on his hand. _A tear. Sherlock was crying. He had made Sherlock cry._ He felt disgusted with himself. _He did nothing but bring unhappiness to his omega. Even his submission wasn’t good enough._

Mycroft voiced a warning in a gentle voice, “Have a care, brother. John is nearly lost to you. Don’t allow your frustrations lead him to believe that he is worthless. You know how insecure John is, he needs to be needed.”

“I do need him, he has to know that.” John felt Sherlock’s hand card through his short hair. It felt nice but John still did not move. “I need you, John, don’t disappear. We can fix this mess, together.”

Mycroft’s voice was filled with pity, “I’m sorry, Sherlock, there’s nothing I can do. This is the version of John that there is now. It might wear off eventually or perhaps this is permanent. Take him and keep him or send him away. The choice is yours.”

John felt Sherlock embrace him, the omega sobbing openly over his back. “John, please come back to me?”

John wanted to move, to respond but he couldn’t. The order was too vague, and he couldn’t do it. Mycroft sighed. “You’ll have to be specific but cautious. John is more fragile than you think. I cannot help you with this, Sherlock. You two will have to find a way together.”

“Leave, then. Thank you for what you did but go. I need to be alone with John.” Mycroft left.

 


	4. Haze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is trapped inside a prison of his own guilt.

“Stand.” John got to his feet, grateful to be off his knees but unable to do more than simply stand as he’d been told. “Unpack your possessions into my room. You are going to stay with me so that I can keep an eye on you.”

John found it easy and even comforting to simply respond to a clear directive. All the choices were out of his hands and he could simply relax. Nothing could be his fault because he was incapable of instigating independent thought. It’s what was best for Sherlock, and therefore what was best for John. Carefully, John fit his few clothes into Sherlock’s well-packed wardrobe and even managed to gently shift items in Sherlock’s dresser over just enough to make room for his pants and socks. He then stood in the room, waiting for a new order.

Sherlock came in two hours later, “John, what are you doing?”

“I finished putting away my clothing,” John reported. His omega should have been pleased but instead, John saw that Sherlock looked just as upset as he had looked earlier. John couldn’t respond to his omega independently, he needed Sherlock to tell him what to do. It was the safe choice.

“John, you can return to the kitchen, that is, unless you need to use the loo to relieve yourself. If that is the case, please do so in whatever manner is your normal method, and then meet me at the kitchen table. In your own time, no need to rush.” Sherlock seemed saddened to have to be so clear but John appreciated it. He did need the facilities, almost desperately now that he was allowed to think about it. He went there quickly and spent several minutes doing his business and then cleaning up. John checked the time, it was very early in the morning and that’s when he normally showered so that’s what he did. He shaved, too, and even went back to their now shared bedroom for fresh things to wear. When he found Sherlock in the kitchen, he saw the omega drooped over his microscope, an expression of desolation on his face. “Well done, John. You may sit.”

John sat and waited for his next order. He felt no urgency, no impatience, nothing. He just waited. Sherlock sighed deeply, “Make some tea, John, for both of us. You must be hungry, too. Please fix yourself a hearty breakfast, something you like.” Sherlock remained sad looking when John did exactly as was requested; brewing two cups of tea, and then making a large breakfast for one. He didn’t offer Sherlock his second slice of toast the way he would have done in the past because Sherlock hadn’t told him that it was okay to do. John ate his meal and then sat back, waiting. “Do the washing up, and then use the loo again if you need it. I will be waiting for you in the front room.”

John spent most of the rest of the day sitting in his chair and holding the paperback he’d been reading when he had still lived with Mary. He wasn’t actually reading it, but Sherlock had handed it to him and then had lain down on the sofa to think. He didn’t move for hours so neither did John. When the omega finally roused himself, he looked upset still, especially when he openly deduced that John had not moved a jot the entire time. Sherlock silently got up, set John the task of preparing a hot meal, and then went to shower and dress.

All through the day, Sherlock gave John different orders. Some were precise, and some were less so. He was testing John’s responses and limitations, and it relaxed John even more. This was the Sherlock he knew and loved. _Sherlock was all about science. He’d sift out all erroneous information and make whatever decisions he needed based on the facts he exposed._ They went shopping, and Sherlock made note that John filled their cart with food items that Sherlock liked the best but bypassed the many items that John normally preferred. Sherlock backtracked through the store and put them in. John didn’t protest, it wasn’t his choice. They checked out together, and for once, John had no trouble with the chip and pin machine, smoothly concluding his transaction.

Sherlock observed John intently. They made it through their entire day in near silence, punctuated by various commands from Sherlock. When night fell, Sherlock watched John even closer before finally ordering him to get ready to sleep. John went to relieve himself one last time, took a brief shower, shaved again, brushed and flossed his teeth, dressed in the pyjama set Sherlock liked, and the went to the bedroom. Sherlock was pacing about in his robe, “This next step troubles me, John. You need to rest but I cannot determine whether I am abusing you or not by joining you. What about sexual congress? What if we indulge? In this state, I know you will provide your consent readily but is it valid? You have willingly enslaved yourself to me to such a degree that it can be argued that you have no free will whatsoever.”

John was stunned to see several tears run down Sherlock’s perfect cheeks, “I suffered so much while I was away, my John, and I did it all for you just like you’re doing _this_ for me. I bear so many scars, and I will for the rest of my days. They are on the outside of me, no one will ever be able to view me without them being between us but your scars…they’re all on the inside now. I did that to you, and I’m so sorry John. I should have realized that you were as fragile and broken as I was and now look at you. You fixed me, like you always do, when you shared my heat, and look how I’ve repaid you. _You_ are the doctor in our great partnership, my John, how can I fix this?”

John went to Sherlock’s wardrobe mirror and looked at himself, “I am fine.” His voice was a bit wooden. _He was unfixable, and more useless by the day. All he could do was reassure his omega_.

“No, you really aren’t.” Sherlock sounded sad, obviously seeing that John wasn’t being truthful. “Come to bed, my John, rest.” John turned around and climbed into bed, closing his eyes immediately. His entire body relaxed and went limp the moment Sherlock joined him, “I’m going to hold you, my John, though I should tell you that it will likely comfort me more than it does you. I apologise if I am violating your boundaries.”

“You aren’t. I don’t mind.” John didn’t. _If his omega wanted to hold him then fine. It was all fine_.

Days went by in a similar manner. Sherlock grew healthier, at least, he ate and slept regularly. He remained at the flat as much as he could and only left if they needed supplies. John didn’t mind. He was just as happy doing whatever Sherlock wanted to do, or to doing nothing at all. Finally, Sherlock came up with a daily schedule that he pinned on the wall and ordered John to follow it. He made no complaint, didn’t argue, didn’t make requests. He did nothing at all unless Sherlock specifically ordered him to.

John was content, but Sherlock was not. It made the alpha feel like a failure because even though he’d given everything he could think of to his omega, Sherlock was still unhappy. Sherlock’s existence was announced to the world, and he re-emerged a hero. London applauded the detective and forgave him for all he’d been accused of but Sherlock was as grim as John was silent. Sherlock did not care for the attention he received, and soon enough, locked himself away on Baker Street with John.

Lestrade came by, Donovan and Anderson in tow. John was washing dishes in the kitchen, mutely focused on his task. When Sherlock called for tea, John smoothly segued, filling a serving tray with crockery and hot tea, serving their guests silently. He could smell their unthreatening beta smells clearly. All of them had just come back from a crime scene. They all smelled of the material that caution tape was made of, he knew it well. Donovan commented first, looking John over with some confusion, “Why are you back with the freak?”

He felt annoyed but tamped it down since Sherlock hadn’t told John to answer so he didn’t. She tried again, “Jesus, John. I thought you were off having a real life somewhere else. Why in the world are you back here with this lunatic?”

More silence though his annoyance grew. Instead of giving her an earful, John poured out cups of hot fragrant liquid until everyone had one. “Join us,” said Sherlock softly, “Answer her, John.”

John blinked before he sat on the sofa right next to Sherlock, “I was momentarily engaged to someone, but she was cheating on me. I’m glad I had somewhere to go. Please do not refer to Sherlock as a freak, he’s never liked it and neither do I.” John responded, his voice was wooden again as if inflexions were beyond him.

Anderson looked a bit worried as John spoke. The forensic specialist had changed a great deal since Sherlock had fallen. He had become obsessed with Sherlock, almost unhealthily so, but John didn’t judge him for that. If there was someone worth venerating, then Sherlock was a good choice. Anderson’s carefully assembled evidence had gone a long way in assisting Sherlock to clear his name and provided a path for him to return to London openly. “You okay, mate?” He seemed genuinely worried and went so far as to glare at Donovan when she snorted contemptuously.

“I am fine.” John blinked one more time, then sipped his tea quietly. He preferred to have it while it was as hot as possible, so he worked away at emptying it while everyone, but Sherlock stared at him.

Lestrade leaned in, “What’s happened?” Obviously, the DI wasn’t asking about what Sherlock had undergone during his absence.

Sherlock heaved a ragged sigh. “Something that can be mended, I hope.” His voice was soft, concerned, “I am working on it.” He seemed upset but was hiding it so John sipped his tea, content because no one was asking anything of him. The tea was lovely and burned his tongue sweetly.

“You drugged him, Holmes?” Donovan’s voice was filled with accusation. She still hadn’t apologised for her part in Sherlock’s fall, and John made a note to take her to task about that. Someday. Eventually. He sipped, savouring the heat as well as the flavour. “This some kind of sick experiment?”

“It’s complicated,” Sherlock’s voice was cold, the unsubtle hint to just drop the line of inquiry as loud as a shout. “Don’t try to understand, Donovan, it’s none of your concern. John is here of his own free will. My brother can attest to that.”

“He looks like shit.” Lestrade’s concern had grown, “Why is he so…quiet?”

“Consider it a chemical imbalance triggered by a long series of very unfortunate events. John will be well as soon as I can sort out what needs to be done. We will both be…well. Now, since you apparently are here only to satisfy your morbid curiosity rather than offering us a case to work on, I will bid you good-day. Leave.”

They stood. John sat there simply holding his now empty cup as Donovan leaned in, “John if you can understand me, blink once if Sherlock is drugging you.” John scowled at her and did not blink though his glare was intense. “Fine. Blink twice if he’s compelling you to stay here in this cesspool.” John upped the intensity of his glare and continued to not blink, “John Watson, are you here of your own free will?”

“Yes.” Sherlock had given him permission to answer her questions and John preferred to do so with words and not his eyelids. “Sherlock told me to leave but I refused. I want to be here. I don’t need to be anywhere Sherlock isn’t.”

They didn’t seem very satisfied but there was nothing more to say. Lestrade too one more lingering look at John before addressing Sherlock, “You messed him up pretty bad, Sherlock, I should be punching you right in the heart for the way you did him. You know he almost topped himself after? Remember that. The man sitting there wanted to die because of what you made him watch. I hope whatever mess you were involved in was worth what we saw him go through.”

“It was a terrible price that I did not set,” Sherlock said softly, “I know the consequences of my actions but none of it was intended. John isn’t the only one paying a price.” It made John feel bad to hear Sherlock say the words. His omega was suffering, and it was all because of John. He had to try harder to satisfy his mate.

Ideas percolated slowly through John’s much-diminished consciousness. He wasn’t so much generating new ideas as he was responding to the stimuli he was presented. If his omega wasn’t happy then John had to try something different, or maybe, he thought, he should try something the same. Sherlock would lead the way, so all John had to do was emulate his omega. _Surely that would make him happy, after all, imitation was the sincerest form of flattery, wasn’t it?_

John knew there was no way he could be the same deductive genius that Sherlock was but there were other things that John could change about himself that were easy. John stopped eating. He waited until Sherlock finally consumed something, and then John followed suit, no more, no less. It was disastrous. Sherlock naturally had a high tolerance for being denied the necessities of life and had rigorously trained his transport to go farther on less. John had not. He circumvented the written schedule for meals because they did not specifically _tell_ him to eat, the schedule merely indicated the timeslots allocated for certain meals. Sherlock had begun to let John eat alone since he ate only a fraction of what the alpha required. Thus unattended, John went about his plan to impress his omega.

This might have worked if John had not been an alpha who required twice as many calories in a day than any omega, even gestating ones. The dense musculature and physiology of an alpha required a high energy output, even when they were relaxing. Simply put, John needed to eat a lot, and frequently. He wasn’t. Sherlock drank a lot of tea so at least, the alpha remained hydrated, but the toll of not enough food was making itself known, and fast. The first day was troublesome, the second day a misery, and half-way through the third day, John passed out. Sherlock was alarmed and brought John in to be checked out at A&E.

If John had been stronger, he would have lashed out at the beta doctor who scolded Sherlock for allowing his partner to go hungry for so long. Sherlock swore up and down that he didn’t realise that John was denying himself food, then castigated himself for not paying closer attention. He then promised to attend John’s every meal _personally_ , and even agreed to consult with a therapist as well as a dietician if necessary. John might have been irritated or mortified, but his mind currently wasn’t dealing with those sorts of issues. All he knew was that he’d failed his omega again.

The doctors kept John in the hospital for two days before releasing him. Sherlock remained by John’s side the entire time, breaking up the tedium by accepting examinations of himself since he needed them. They were eventually allowed to leave, the doctor giving Sherlock a folder filled with helpful pamphlets and business cards of medical referrals and exam results for both of them.

Mycroft was waiting for them at the flat. Not bothering to address John directly, he asked, “Any changes?” Sherlock shook his head despondently and Mycroft heaved a worried sigh, “It’s worse than we thought. Not only is Ms Moran exactly who we thought she was, but it seems that her contract has not expired or elapsed.”

“How do we keep him safe? Her employer has many eyes, we are obviously being watched.” Sherlock looked agitated. John distantly wondered who they were worried about and wondered a tiny amount about Mary. “I’m only recently officially home, it’s just a matter of time before we’re in a more vulnerable position.”

“I’m asking once more, will you please come to mine? I can’t protect you here. It would be easy enough to relocate Mrs Hudson, there’s a theme cruise departing soon, I can have her and Mrs Turner on it soonest, they’d be out of harm’s way and we could deal with things without hesitation.” Mycroft sounded as if he had made a similar offer before.

If he had turned his brother down previously, Sherlock wasn’t doing so again. “I need time to pack. Send a car. We’ll be there for dinner.”

Mycroft looked relieved, “I’ll ask the kitchen to make that stew that John likes.”

Sherlock’s face looked soft for a brief second, “Thank you, Mycroft. I’m sure he will enjoy it.” John didn’t care what he ate, not anymore. If he was required to ingest food, he did. What it was didn’t matter to him anymore. All that was important was making sure that Sherlock liked it. His omega was the most important thing, the primary consideration for every activity. John was there to serve Sherlock utterly, and that was it.

Mycroft left, and Sherlock ordered John to follow him to their bedroom. The bed was still messy, so John tidied it up so that Sherlock could haul down their suitcases. He made John stand by the wardrobe to hold hangers while Sherlock carefully folded away a broad selection for both of them. He ordered John to check and load his handgun, so John did so with military precision. He always kept it cleaned and oiled, so it only took a few minutes before it was tucked into the new back holster that was threaded onto his belt so that the weapon was snug and secure, out of sight, but within easy reach. “There you are, my John, a proper soldier.” Sherlock fussed with John’s jumper, tugging it straight and making sure the collar of his shirt wasn’t crooked.

The trip out of the city was uneventful. Mycroft had his people drop off an unassuming black car in front of their building, so Sherlock drove them to his brother’s house via a wildly circuitous route. John’s thoughts came together enough for him to realise that Sherlock was just enjoying himself, pretending it was just a nice day for a drive with the person he cared for. It wasn’t enough to shake the SUV trailing after them, and John was certain that his preternaturally observant omega had spotted it as well. It was a tad annoying to have Mycroft’s people tailing them, but he supposed the circumstances warranted it. Hoping it would make his omega happy, John reached over and carefully lay his hand upon Sherlock’s thigh. He glanced over and was relieved to see a small smile on Sherlock’s face, but also a sad tear slipping down his cheek again, “Thank you, John. This is lovely, isn’t it? We so seldom have a sunny day together.”

John knew that his omega was still sad about something, but he couldn’t figure out what. He was doing everything within his power to make his beloved Sherlock happy but all he was doing was making him cry. He wished he could show Sherlock how he felt about him, but they hadn’t laid a finger on one another that could be deemed anything but chaste. They shared space intimately but had never once crossed the border into sensuality. Sherlock would not initiate anything, and John was unable to, putting his hand out just now had taken everything in him. This was the most he’d managed since he’d submitted himself to Sherlock. They were still sharing the same tender glance when the entire world went sideways as a vehicle rammed them from behind, forcing them off the road and partially into an alley.

John nearly lost consciousness from the force of the impact and the first thing he did was check for Sherlock. His omega was slumped over the steering wheel, momentarily stunned but already coming back. “John! Are you unharmed?”

John glanced over himself, “I am fine. You are unhurt?”

Sherlock nodded, “This wasn’t an accident. We have to get out of here.” John glanced around. The vehicle that had struck them was nowhere in sight, and the streets were suspiciously empty. The seemed to be surrounded by offices, no storefronts or residential buildings anywhere near enough to be gotten to discretely. John pulled the lever on Sherlock’s side of the car since the door on his side was wedged against the side of a building. A few more pounds of pressure and John would have been sliced in two. He was grateful for the miraculous lack of injury though he suspected adrenaline was keeping him from feeling the almost certain muscular over-strain he likely had. Sherlock managed to unclip his own seatbelt as John fumbled for his, and both men exited the driver’s door and stumbled slowly to the building nearest them.

It was closed. This was the business end of town and on Sunday afternoon, nothing was open. There was nought but silence and it was ominous. John helped Sherlock stagger to the alley where they squeezed themselves into a refrigerator box wedged between two bins, hiding from whoever was looking for them. John pulled together some restaurant debris, stacking up veg boxes and empty oil tins until they were obscured by what seemed to be a perfectly legitimate pile of rubbish. Sherlock got his phone out, “Mycroft, we’ve been ambushed.” He rattled off their location, “It’s her, I’m certain of it.”

 _Her who?_ Sherlock was listening intently to whatever Mycroft was saying, his normal disdain for his brother’s input nowhere in evidence. John didn’t have to wonder long because a familiar and once dear voice was singing out his name in a taunting tone, “John! Where are you, John? Are you with Sherlock, John? I know you are, you’d never leave that cum-dump anywhere alone, would you?” _Mary. It was Mary!_ John felt utter astonishment for the first time in ages. _Why was Mary here? Why did she sound so different, so crass, so dark, so threatening? She was a nurse, a happy, pleasant, somewhat philandering nurse!_ John had never heard her use coarse terminology. It was nearly as disconcerting as learning that she had double-crossed him in the first place, “Come out, John. The game is nearly over.”

Sherlock shook his head, signally silently for John to remain quiet. Another voice, male, spoke softly, “I don’t think they’re here, Aggie, let’s check inside some of these places.”

 _Aggie?_ John frowned. _Everything about his ex was obviously a lie and he hadn’t twigged to it at all_. He felt disgusted with himself for being so idiotically blind, “They didn’t have enough time to break in anywhere and hide, they’re outside somewhere. Keep checking.”

 _He knew that voice too. It was David, and he had called Mary Aggie. Was that a nickname of some kind?_ “Jim told you to just finish the doctor, you should have followed orders. Now the boss is on us again.”

 _James Moriarty? Was he alive? How?_ His surprised mental question was answered a moment later when the woman he thought he’d loved replied scathingly, “Jim blew his own brains out before the job was done. We’re never getting paid now until we can prove that both of them are dead. If Holmes hadn’t resurfaced, then everything would have just kept going. But no, you’re the one who wanted to close the contract so here we are. _I_ was perfectly happy to let it be.” It was Mary’s voice, but the sharp biting tones were so different than the chirpy positive woman he’d once lived with. She’d dropped her British accent as well, now sounding like one of the personalities on American weather stations. It shook John more than he expected.

“Well, we can’t stay here, Aggie. The boss said we _had_ to close the contract or accept the penalty. You remember what that is? Yeah, he finds every soft spot we have and pushes so hard we cease to exist. Why you didn’t just let me shoot that little fucker in the head before this, I’ll never understand. We need the cash to get off this forsaken rock and onto the continent, enough money to disappear someplace comfortable and stay missing. If his brother finds us…”

“Yes, yes, yes, you’re pissing your pants over Mycroft, I remember.” Mary scoffed openly, “He’s the real reason you want to run, don’t even pretend that it’s because we needed to kill Holmes and Watson. You seem to forget that we work for someone more dangerous than the Holmes brothers could ever be, so now that we’re on the job again, can you fucking find your testicles and put them back on again? I haven’t even got a cock and I’ve got a bigger pair that you do. Check that basement stairwell, they could have ducked into one of these closed businesses easy. Go on, move it.”

“For the thousandth time, don’t push me, Mary, I’m not one of your little projects.” David’s voice was harder and more biting that John could recall ever hearing it, “If you hadn’t decided to keep a contract as a pet, we wouldn’t need to do this now. After Jim topped himself we could have gone to work somewhere warm, but you just couldn’t miss the chance to try and own someone, could you?” His voice had faded and become a bit muffled as he did as he’d been ordered. He came back to Mary and John listened as they slowly proceeded to the next alley-entrance. It was next to the bins they were still hiding behind. “We’ve been allowed to dillydally long enough, time to earn our fun money.”

Sherlock slowly lifted his mobile up and made a show of muting it, fishing John’s mobile out of his coat pocket and doing the same. The screen lit up just as he did so, and John quickly returned his attention to the location of their enemies, making sure they hadn’t somehow noticed the dim light. Sherlock held it up and let John read the text from Mycroft. Help wouldn’t get to them for twenty minutes. John hoped that Mary and David simply searched themselves away from their current location. They weren’t paying a lot of attention to what they were doing, in fact, they were still arguing softly.

“You hardly argued when I did,” Mary said flippantly but there was a barely hidden thread of anger in her voice, “You were as hot for him as I was. Don’t try to tell me you didn’t want a piece of his arse.”

“You never offered to share even if I was, which I wasn’t,” David sounded irritated, and a bit closer. They were close enough to hear, but not enough to see where John and Sherlock were hiding. “You know that alphas fucking alphas is unnatural. Our cocks could cause serious damage.”

“Well, _his_ certainly could. I know you’ve fantasized about taking it up the bum.” Mary laughed nastily, “He’d split you in two, his cock is so fucking huge. It’s like this deformity between his legs. I mean, he’s fun and everything but yeah, thank goodness you’re always willing to give me a bit more than a rub-up.”

John flushed with embarrassment. He couldn’t help how big his cock was, he certainly hadn’t _asked_ for a penis so large. She was the one with the size kink, or so she had said. John had never been more miserable to be outside minimum standards. _He couldn’t make anyone happy, not his past lovers, not his fiancée, and not even his omega_. Sherlock was the one to lay a gentle hand on John now, his eyes filled with heat as he mouthed the words _I like it_ and winking naughtily, biting his generous bottom lip suggestively. John flushed a second time but happily, all his embarrassment gone. _His omega liked his cock. Sherlock was flirting with him. That was good. Very good_.

Now John felt proud. _He’d been inside Sherlock properly, and everything, they’d knotted multiple times, something Mary would never be able to achieve. She could have David’s underwhelming alpha cock. His was permanently reserved for his mate._ Sherlock had experienced numerous orgasms because of it, tremendous size or no, John had given his omega so much pleasure with his cock that Sherlock had occasionally lost consciousness due to the intensity of it. “The rest of it was good, poor little broken alpha. He was ever so grateful for even the slightest amount of affection. Pathetic but fun, like a puppy from the pound.”

Sherlock restrained him from leaping forward to attack her. He was surprised that David couldn’t smell the battle-hungry pheromones that he was emitting. There was no way he ought to be able to miss it. John began to listen intently, using all his senses to gauge where his ex-fiancée and lover were in relation to where he and Sherlock were hiding. He had his handgun, but it only had a few rounds in it. John didn’t know what they were carrying, but if they worked for someone more dangerous than Moriarty, then Mary and David were hazardous. The fog he’d been living in faded away, his instinct to protect his mate over-riding his desire to submit completely.

John grew still, not the stillness that came with passive waiting, but the stillness of an apex predator before meeting a challenge. John was sick and tired of all of it. He was surrounded by deceit and treachery. Of course, criminals like Moriarty and his ilk would have plans within plans. They’d been after Mycroft, after all, and even without Sherlock present, John was an access point into the Holmes family. John should have known that someone would eventually want to exploit that connexion. Mary had appeared in his life just when he was at his absolute lowest when he was least able to discern his imminent danger. She was an emotional cuckoo, taking someone else’s place in the nest, selfishly enjoying what wasn’t hers.

 _What kind of person did you have to be to be able to do something like that? How did anyone manage to intimately insinuate themselves into a grieving person’s life, to take the tatters of their heart and build a lie out of it?_ _To think that he had wavered for even an instant over choosing Sherlock over her._ There should have been no question to whom John belonged. Sherlock was deeply flawed, certainly, but so was John. They made each other better, they needed one another to be better. Mary, or whatever her name was, wasn’t going to make less of what they had become by winning this fight, not if John had anything to do with it.

The submissive fugue burned away completely now as his situation became clear. _He was meant to be with Sherlock Holmes, full stop. Anything attempting to interfere with that was not to be tolerated. In front of him were two barriers to that solution and it was only right to ensure that those barriers were permanently removed. Mary had betrayed him and the alpha she’d betrayed him with was right there. They deserved no quarter, no mercy. They were threatening his omega, and himself._ For the first time in his entire life, John allowed his full alpha nature manifest, and now, Sherlock was unable to restrain or subdue John from acting.

Mary and David weren’t expecting him to leap out at them from a pile of restaurant trash. At least it was relatively clean recycling, but John was pretty sure that the state of the cooking oil can that was smacked hard into the back of his head wasn’t the detail that David was worried about. A tiny spray of blood painted the side of Mary’s face as the sharp corner pierced David’s scalp. David grunted and staggered upon impact and Mary hesitated for a micro-second before pulling a handgun from her coat and beginning to swing it John’s way. An open-handed slap from a very large hand spun her around. Mary hissed as Sherlock plucked her weapon away, flinging it over his shoulder to disappear inside a large bin filled with organic waste.

David turned, and he had a knife out, “Payday for us, Aggie. Who d’ya want to do first?” He was grinning and ignoring Sherlock entirely, his smirk aimed directly at John.

“Him, obviously, you idiot! That omega slut slapped me!” Mary was spitting mad, “What kind of breeder does that?” She wasn’t even bothering to ask Sherlock directly. John had witnessed this kind of prejudice before and had never tolerated the bigoted presumption that gender somehow affected a person’s ability to be intelligent.

“The kind who doesn’t care if the psychopath in front of him is female or not.” Sherlock’s fists were up and with Queensbury flair, Sherlock used his long arm to his advantage and punched Mary right in the face.

David was incensed to the degree that he completely focussed on Sherlock and stabbed forward with his knife. Sherlock managed to bat the man’s hand away, but not in time to prevent Mary from using the interruption to produce her own blade which she plunged into John’s thigh. Her eye was already swelling but her face was twisted with a dark kind of joy that John had never imagined witnessing on her face. “Surprised, love? It’s been a long aggravating year for me playing nurse for a bunch of tedious Londoners and having to put up with your moaning day after day. _Oh Sherlock! I miss Sherlock! He was the best man I ever knew.”_ Her tone was mocking, “You cried so much, it really put me off. I had to take _e_ the first night we slept together. You are just the worst in bed. I didn’t even come for the first three months we had sex, that’s how useless you are as a shag.”

The stab wound was shallow and more aggravating than disabling but he knew it was only because he’d been moving away from her now that it hadn’t been worse. Having failed at that, John knew she was just trying to rile him up, so he ignored her as best he could because he recalled the nights where he’d wrung orgasm after orgasm from her, the scent of her satiation rich in his aural memory. _Did she not understand how an alpha relied on being able to tell that they’d satisfied their mate? Were betas able to fake orgasms in a believable way, and why would they want to?_ “Good thing you had David and his itty-bitty cock to play with, right?” John taunted her back, “What’s that like then? Gives a whole new spin on _cocktail wieners_ , right Mary?” John pretended to spare a considerate glance at David who was still sparring with Sherlock but also listening if the angry red spots on his cheeks were any indication. John decided to push harder so that David’s attention was less focussed on his lover. “What’s it like having a finger for a cock, David? I saw your little nub, baby boy. I guess it must be a bit of alright since Mary can take it, and she’s a beta. Is that why you like her because you can pretend to be with an omega?”

“I wouldn’t settle for such a disappointment,” rumbled Sherlock, “I don’t know an omega who would. I needed something _grown-up_ enough to satisfy, and let me inform you honestly, thanks to John, I’ve never been more satisfied. Have you even managed to be with an omega, David? I’m sure Mary is very exciting to work with and to play with, but have you ever managed to seduce even one omega? There’s nothing like it, nothing to compare it to, ask John. He’s been with loads, but none finer than me. Oh dear, by the vacant look on your face I’m going to say no, you haven’t, have you? No, you just work for criminals and settling for some other alpha’s leftovers, sad little beta wanna-be-omegas with nothing left to offer but her artificial stink and an unsatisfied hunger for something better.”

“At least Mary and I have a relationship that’s real. She told me about you, _an omega prude_. We never thought we’d see such a thing either, after all, omega are known for being indiscriminate sluts, just dripping holes begging to be bred. That’s all you are, Sherlock Holmes, a walking container for alpha spunk. You might think my cock is small but when you are stuck on my knot, you’ll think differently.”

Sherlock pretended to be thinking hard before continuing as if David hadn’t said a thing, “Let me amend my earlier statement. It would be like sitting on a cocktail wiener attached to two peas. You _could_ try to rape me, I suppose. It wouldn’t physically harm me to be rogered by your pin-prick, although, the thought of having your genetic material anywhere on me is a bit revolting. Getting me pregnant would be an impossibility, even at the height of my heat.” Sherlock stated calmly as if David had not spoken a word. He sniffed in David’s direction before wrinkling his nose, “You probably don’t even need to use birth control. Your underdeveloped bollocks can’t produce more than a handful of barely viable sperm. That’s another reason Mary likes you, you produce a lot of volumes, but you are as good as infertile. Interesting, because I smell her pregnancy.” He paused to sniff dramatically once more, “It’s not John’s, there isn’t a trace of him on her and if she were pregnant with his pups, she’d reek of him. No, she smells, oh my,” Sherlock paused again, taking a deliberately insulting breath in Mary’s direction, “She doesn’t smell of _you_ either. Congratulations, you’re a cuckold.”

“The _fuck_ , Aggie?” David looked infuriated, “Is this true?”

“You can’t believe him! He’s a sociopath and a professional liar. He can’t know anything for certain.” Mary protested but she looked guilty. Everyone knew that omega scent receptors were incomparable, and being able to tell who fathered a child, or at least who hadn’t, was instinctual to omega everywhere.

“Actually, omega scent receptors are twice as sensitive as alphas, so he actually can smell it on you. Also, Sherlock seldom bothers to lie. He doesn’t care if he hurts people’s feelings.” John wasn’t even trying to hit David any longer. He was too busy fighting off Mary who had apparently lost her mind with rage. John fended off her swings easily, and each deflect made her angrier.

 _“You said it was Watson’s!”_ David shouted, also incensed enough to be careless, “How many alphas are you fucking currently?”

Sherlock sniffed delicately one more time, then pulled a face as if he’d scented something rank, “I estimate at least five, but only one has been her lover long enough to dispense with condoms.” Sherlock sounded bored now, and John wondered if punching David in the face would amuse his omega. “I’m not slut-shaming or anything because Alphas _are_ rather delightful, so I understand her appreciation of them, but poor form getting pregnant, Mary. You’re a nurse, you have access to birth control, do you not, or did you think John wouldn’t notice that the woman he hadn’t bred was pregnant? Also, where do you find the time to service so many alphas at once? Group sex? Lines? Oh, I know, you have one of those ticker-tape number thingies…I bet you have to replace _that_ roll weekly.”

“Shut up, you barren freak!” Mary’s face was red with fury as well as embarrassment. John’s fists closed up tight when he smelled the subtle note of pain in Sherlock’s scent. John was his mate, no one else could sense it, but Sherlock had been hurt by her words and it made him want to hurt her back, pregnant or not. “At least I can have a baby, can you? You probably have so many STIs from fucking your way across Europe these last two years that even your infections have infections!”

Sherlock’s back straightened, “At least if I do become pregnant I won’t have to run _numerous_ paternity tests to determine its parentage because both John and I will know it was him. Unlike yourself, I don’t service just any alpha who comes along. I saved myself for the one I care for, the one who cares for me.”

She laughed in an ugly manner, “Yeah, he’s a good loyal dog, isn’t he, so ready to sniff after his bitch! Always ready to heel and obey. Fucking stupid alphas.”

Now David was glaring at her, “Mind yourself, Morstan.”

 _“Mind yourself, Morstan.”_ She mocked him, “You’re as useless as John, all pheromones and acting like animals.” Her blows were becoming wilder, less planned, and therefore more dangerous. John kept her away from Sherlock. If she was going to go off, he wanted to take the blow, and would not allow his darling, though very capable, omega to come to harm.

“Oh?” David said mildly, his swings at Sherlock becoming less aggressive. He stepped back unexpected, dropping his arms and sheathing his weapon. “Then you don’t need my help. I’m a bit surprised what with all the begging for it you did earlier today. I guess I’ll just take my gun and go home.”

“Do that,” urged Sherlock, “She’s not worth your time.” Sherlock stepped closer to John, but not so close that his alpha couldn’t continue fighting the enraged beta.

“Man up, David,” spat Mary, “Stop being so fucking weak, you know how I hate that.” She tried to stab her knife toward John’s wounded leg but he stepped aside easily enough.

“Looks like you hate just everything, Aggie, and everything hates you.” David was cold. He kept stepping back, increasing the distance between him and the fight. “You loath omegas for being fecund, and you hate alphas for wanting to mate and bond, and you even hate other betas because you’re just a fountain of unhappiness, aren’t you, Aggie. So mad all the time, so furious that you don’t get your way every single moment. You want to control the world but you can’t even control yourself.” Mary gaped at her partner in shock when David stepped back, raising his weapon in an unthreatening manner and looking right at John, “You know what? I’m done. Gentlemen, sorry for the bother, but I am not fulfilling this contract. Good luck getting paid, Aggie, remember, the deal was for _the two of us_ to get things done.”

“Fine, you can get shot in the head when the boss finds out you’re breaking the contract.”

David laughed without humour, “Whatever, Aggie. You lie so much, I’m just going to bet my life that you lied about the penalty too.”

Enraged at last because her now-obvious bluff had been called, Mary pulled out a small hand-gun and aimed right at Sherlock’s chest. Ignoring her boyfriend’s disapproving hiss, she snarled, “You ruined my fun, so goodbye, you slut. You should have stayed dead.”

John didn’t remember screaming in horror as he watched the bullet tear a hole in Sherlock’s chest, nor did he recall putting a bullet into Mary’s forehead, followed by two in her chest, nor how David had taken a horrified look at his late lover before bolting away. John snatched up Sherlock’s mobile and called Mycroft, “He’s been shot. Mary shot him in the chest!”

“Help is already nearly there, John, three minutes out,” Mycroft sounded shaken and more than a little helpless, “Do whatever you need to do to keep him alive. We will meet you at the hospital, specialists will be waiting for you.” John wasn’t paying attention. He was too busy trying to stop Sherlock from bleeding out. His hand covered the small hole and he pressed down hard. Sherlock was breathing but it was stuttering and irregular. His eyes were closed, and his skin was already grey with shock. John fought back the hysteria that attempted to overwhelm him.

 _What had he done?_ John was losing it just like he was losing Sherlock. His lover would not survive, already, Sherlock’s heart was stuttering out its last beats. The detective was trying to breathe but his body was in shock and was shutting down. _John couldn’t remember what to do. He couldn’t think clearly, could not make his body act the way he needed it to. He’d just shot and killed his ex-fiancée. Her lover was still on the loose after attempting to murder John and Sherlock both. The man he loved more than anything was dying beneath his hands. John was losing everything_. John was frozen on the spot, holding in Sherlock’s lifeblood with his bare hands but doing nothing else. He leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together and willed all his life-energy into his lover. He had no idea if such a desperate gambit would even work, it was all wishful thinking, but he had to try. His chest was burning, his body was aflame with anxious terror. He could not lose Sherlock. He could not.

“Doctor Watson? Doctor? Move back. We need to…” Hands pulled John firmly away from Sherlock’s body and began to work. He fell onto his arse and sat there, numbly watching paramedics scrambling to stabilize Sherlock enough to get him into the ambulance. He was bundled in right after and made to sit by Sherlock’s head where the omega could breathe in John’s scent. Protective pheromones filled the cabin as the team worked to save Sherlock’s life while John sat there, too shocked to move.

 


	5. Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John needs Sherlock to survive, he cannot imagine a world without his mate.

He didn’t recall a lot of what happened after that. His body wasn’t responding like he was a soldier trained to offer medical assistance whilst in the field. His brain was giving conflicting commands. John needed to be able to protect and nurture his injured mate. His inner alpha needed to find someone to take its rage out on and Mary was already dead, David gone who knows where, and even if he _did_ know, he couldn’t leave Sherlock’s side. When they arrived at the hospital, the staff kept him close to his omega, garbing him in surgical scrubs and gloves so that he could join the surgeon in the theatre to remain next to Sherlock. Everyone knew that mated pairs healed dramatically better when they weren’t separated, and since Sherlock had a bite-mark on his neck, none of the doctors or nurses questioned John’s status as his bond-mate. The fact that he would not move away and growled ferociously at anyone who seemed to even suggest that he might leave, encouraged the medical staff to keep him where he was.

The ache in John’s chest was noticeable now, almost enough to disturb the agitated alpha into moving but he was like a statue, his hands upon Sherlock’s head, cradling the mind that he loved so much. John leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Sherlock’s, his nose pressed against his omega’s hair as he softly begged Sherlock to pull through. John kissed Sherlock’s brows, and his temples, and made sure his worried tears did not splash on Sherlock’s still face.

For a horrible moment, all the monitors in the room produced a single flat note. Sherlock’s heart had stopped. John felt faint as if a gaping chasm had opened in his soul because his mate was technically dead. The doctors scrambled to restart it, succeeding one long minute later, and the ache in John’s chest burned like new fire. He pressed his lips to Sherlock’s ear, whispering words of devotion and love, making promises to his beloved omega, recklessly swearing to never clean the fridge again unless Sherlock said it was okay, and that he’d allow as much dust as Sherlock wanted to accumulate in the flat without a word of protest, or how he’d take all of Sherlock’s clothing to the dry cleaners instead of throwing most of it in the wash with his clothes. John was willing to promise anything at all if it meant Sherlock would just stay.

The surgery lasted for a long time, and Sherlock’s heart stopped twice more. Each time, John felt the chasm in his soul open, and when Sherlock’s heart beat again, it closed up and merged with the heat inside John’s chest. Finally, the burn grew and spread, filling John’s body with comforting heat and he _knew_ that Sherlock would survive.

He did.

Two weeks later, Sherlock was shouting at the nursing staff, texting his brother, his mother, the prime minister, and even the Queen on one audacious occasion, ordering all of them to let him leave. “Stop it, Sherlock! You’re going to get arrested.” John snatched Sherlock’s mobile away but gave it back almost immediately when Sherlock made a sad face. He had no ability to deny his omega anything and he was so grateful that Sherlock was still with him that he had begun allowing his omega to indulge himself as much as Sherlock wanted. He even filtered who had visitation access, blocking people like Lestrade and even Molly, mainly because their visits immediately resulted in Sherlock trying to sneak off to the morgue or worse, to demand to be wheelchaired over to a crime scene so he could check things over.

John knew he was over-protective but they’d learned that his late-fake-ex-wife had worked for Moriarty and that Moriarty himself had been a player for a larger concerned who Mycroft would only identify via his initials, C.A.M, a person of interest who mysteriously was found murdered at his own residence via a shot right through his brain. David had also been caught but had also been spirited away. What happened to him, the pair could not bring themselves to care about. John didn’t question it and neither did Sherlock, though the omega was greatly disgruntled that Mycroft had sent in sleeper agents who bore a striking resemblance to both he and John. That person had ended up being charged with murder, but at Sherlock’s insistence, the punishment had been relatively light. The agent was sent out of the country, back to his homeland where a new identity and new life awaited him.

John himself made no protest because he didn’t think to. It was a problem distant from him and therefore nothing to concern himself about. The alpha was once again caught in between the bizarre submissive headspace he’d put himself in and his normal persona. Sherlock was shamelessly exploiting it to get his own way all day long, but John didn’t protest even once. He fetched and carried, changed the channel on the telly on command, hand fed and sponge-washed Sherlock whenever he wanted it, spending his every moment doing nothing but catering to Sherlock’s slightest wish.

Mycroft was disgusted. “He’s not a slave, Sherlock, I thought you preferred a more independent mate?”

“I’m wounded, Mycroft, literally _and_ metaphorically. How _dare_ you insinuate that I am taking advantage of my alpha.” Sherlock sounded aggrieved and hard done by.

“I’m not insinuating. I’m declaring it outright. You are abusing John’s state of mind. You’ve already pushed him to the limit once, do you want that to happen again? If you care and respect your mate, you would see that, but no, you prefer behaving like a selfish child.” Sherlock huffed out an offended snort, “He barely sleeps, he hardly eats, he’s been wearing the same blood-stained clothing for twelve days, he has a fully developed beard, and he smells so awful that everyone who passes by thinks he crawled out of a landfill.”

Sherlock’s mien turned guilty because John was more than a little ripe and quite wrinkly to boot. The detective pulled his sheet up a bit higher to cover the large bandage on his chest and looked around. He was seated in his bed surrounded by the detritus of his daily life, every surface of his private room covered in laptops, newspapers, magazines, get well cards, and take-out containers of Sherlock’s various meals. “He eats. He sleeps.”

“He eats your left-overs and sleeps in a chair.” Mycroft looked stern, “Sherlock, you must do better by him. He is your _mate_. You wouldn’t treat someone from your homeless network this poorly, so why does John deserve it?”

Sherlock looked stricken now, and John glowered at Mycroft. _Sherlock was feeling bad and John did not like that_. Growling softly, he clenched his fists and took one step toward Sherlock’s brother, “I am here of my own free will.”

Mycroft looked at John with pity, “Are you, Doctor Watson? I had hopes that you had risen above this. I have grave doubts that you are capable of exerting your free will, and I know my little brother well enough to know that he can’t resist how you are right now. You’d do absolutely anything for him.”

“I always have.” There was no lie there and Mycroft knew it. John had been willing to go far beyond the call of duty on Sherlock’s behalf right from the day they met.

“Yes, but _within limits_ , John, and you took care of yourself. You don’t know. You’re not as deeply inside your submissive headspace as you were but you aren’t out either. Instead of helping you, Sherlock is using you.”

“He has every right. He’s my mate.” John argued stubbornly.

“Point of fact, you are _not_ his mate, not really. You have not bonded, nor will you be able to bond. You are by his side at my discretion, and the moment I decide that having you with him is doing more harm than good, then I will remove you. You both need to be in a healthy relationship with one another. This inequity will ruin you both. Tell me I am wrong.”

 _That really hurt._ “You’re wrong.” John insisted, “We’re fine. We’re better than fine. Having a bond…we don’t need one. I just need…he’s my only…he’s just… _he was shot in the chest_ , you bastard. Of course, I’m not taking care of _me_ , I have to look after _him_ , he’s more important. I’m helping.”

John looked at Sherlock who was staring back at him. The omega’s gaze darted up and down John’s body, and soon enough, the conflicted scent of Sherlock’s upset increased dramatically. Sherlock and John both knew that Mycroft was right, but neither would bend enough to admit it. “We can’t be apart. I need him close to help me heal faster,” Sherlock argued contentiously.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, and huffed out an impatient breath, “That’s right, Sherlock, let’s make it all about you, _again_.” Mycroft walked over the John and stared down at him coldly, “Where is your spine, man? You used to possess one, and it is one of the characteristics that made you a suitable partner for my brother. Do not continue allowing Sherlock to run rampant over your needs and emotions just because you feel deeply for him. You are in the private care ward of a fully functional medical facility staffed with the most highly trained personnel I could find. It is _their_ job to help, not yours. Sherlock is being childish, spoiled, and entirely selfish by forcing you to be the sole recipient of his ceaseless demands. There is no reason you cannot be afforded some time to eat a hot meal, to take a proper shower, or to be allowed to retrieve clean clothing. My brother is being abusive toward you and I will not allow him to continue doing so. The few hours it would take to accomplish these things will not cause him medical distress.”

If Sherlock had been a flower right then, it would be a tiny wilted one. He looked angry and ashamed of himself. “Listen to Mycroft, John. He’s…” Sherlock swallowed hard and couldn’t look at anyone, “He’s right,” he choked out. “I don’t actually need you to wait on me hand and foot twenty-four hours a day…I just like having you close, and…” Sherlock scowled at his brother before looking away, his cheeks pink with embarrassment before he almost whispered the last of it, “I like it when you fuss over me.”

“Oh, Sherlock,” John’s heart melted. He didn’t want to be angry with his omega, so he wasn’t, but he was relieved. “You know I’m going to fuss over you forever, there’s no need to behave like I won’t. Bond or not, I’m not going anywhere. I’m yours.” Looking after Sherlock was a privilege. John didn’t resent it a bit.

“I’m yours too,” the detective replied quickly. Sherlock then looked up before he reached out to take John’s hand, “Go home, John. Order out, have a bath. Sleep there tonight, and I’ll see you in the morning. I love you, and you deserve more than what I’ve been offering. I’ll miss you, of course, but it’s not like you can’t come back later. I’ll be fine.”

John wasn’t sure that he liked this idea. _What if something happened? What if Sherlock took an unexpected turn for the worse while John wasn’t there watching over him. Would the nurses notice on time? They did hourly rounds, but a lot could happen in an hour_. “I’ll go wash and eat but I’m not sleeping there.”

Mycroft’s mouth crooked into a momentary smile, “Bargaining. That’s a good step, John. Agreed. Go on, we’ll see you here in four hours.”

“Nice to see you, brother.” Sherlock tried to dismiss Mycroft as he accepted a farewell kiss from his alpha. John noted that Sherlock’s nose wrinkled as he leaned in, and even he couldn’t deny that he smelled rather corpse-like.

“My dearest Sherlock, we have so much catching up to do. Whilst your soldier goes to refresh himself, lets you and I enjoy some _family time_ , hmm?” John smiled as Sherlock pouted, relieved anew that his omega wouldn’t be left unattended. He kissed Sherlock one more time to fortify himself, and then was driven home in Mycroft’s car. The driver said nothing, but he did raise the cab divider and rolled down his window for the duration.

It was awful at 221 B Baker Street. John felt cold and alone. Mrs Hudson wasn’t even there, she was still on her cruise with Mrs Turner. John took a bit of time to bin all the mouldy food now present in the fridge, considerately bagging samples of everything for Sherlock to play with later, before ordering a massive selection from his favourite Thai takeaway. John showered and shaved, and by the time his food arrived, he was re-dressed and feeling more like himself. While he ate, the silence gave him an opportunity to really think about everything that had happened since Sherlock had come back. John felt it was a bit ironic that he was the unstable one considering how much trauma that Sherlock had undergone. Yes, Sherlock had been a tad over-the-top with his recent demands but the very fact that he was alive to make them made it easy for John to remain over-indulgent with his mate. After all, he was the one who couldn’t seem to pull himself together. John felt a bit guilty for being so fragile when Sherlock had dealt with so much for so long, and he’d done it alone. That was no small feat for any gender, being an omega made it the most amazing achievement John could imagine.

He wasn’t worth a minute of Sherlock’s time but for some reason, the omega doted on him and John could never allow himself to forget it. No matter how worthless he considered himself, Sherlock needed him to be there, to exist for him. John had let Sherlock down so many times that he couldn’t let himself fail again. Instead, John used up some of his time making a plate to take to Sherlock for a late dinner, did some of the chores for the flat, especially doing the washing up. Their laundry was piled up, so John sorted it out into heaps and made a mental note to do more with it when he next returned to the flat. One bit at a time, John sorted their flat out, and in doing so, calmed all his inner turmoil as he finally felt the tension that had been building ease. Smiling to himself, John sighed and reminded himself that things could have gone horribly wrong and that it would be remiss of him to regret anything that had happened. It had been a rough ride, but knowing he would be coming back home with Sherlock on his arm soon was enough to make his smile turn into an excited grin. With one final glance to see that all was right in their home, John collected up some amusements for his bored mate and departed.

John made it back to Sherlock’s room four hours after he’d departed, on the dot. Sherlock looked relieved to see him, and without pause, John went over and kissed his omega hello. Being away for a few hours had refreshed them both. When their kiss deepened, Mycroft made a gagging noise and rose to his feet, “Well, this has been charming, Sherlock. Please consider what we’ve discussed.”

While the elder Holmes departed, the younger lay back on his hospital bed to gaze up at his lover, “I’m a terrible man.”

“I’m going to kick Mycroft’s flabby arse,” John promised darkly, “What’s he been going about while I was away? I knew I shouldn’t have left.” John set down his bags so that he could chase Mycroft down before he got to his car.

Sherlock gripped John’s arm, “Please, John, hear me out.” John could not directly refuse Sherlock anything still, so he didn’t struggle. He stood there, passively attentive so Sherlock spoke, “I have made many selfish and arrogant choices in the last few years, John. I allowed you to believe I was dead because I presumed it was the best way to keep you safe. Instead, you suffered endlessly, and I did not know. I deliberately did not check on you because I was more concerned about how my separation from you affected me and did not consider enough how your separation from me would affect you.”

“You didn’t have a choice, I know that. You couldn’t let anyone know you were alive.” John argued.

Sherlock shook his head, “I allowed you to become vulnerable, and that vulnerability lead directly to where we are today, both of us shattered and nearly in ruins.” The omega pressed John’s hands between his, and looked at him imploringly, “I never meant to harm you and I never thought that the harms I took upon myself would linger so. I can offer you nothing at all but my continued selfishness because although I don’t deserve you a jot, I don’t want to let you go. There is no reason at all for you to want to stay with me.”

John felt that chasm opening up inside of him again. _Sherlock was ending their relationship!_ John felt his heart begin to shatter. Sherlock clutched his chest and looked up at John in astonishment. The alpha stared back, “You felt that?”

“John, I’m hurting you again. How do I stop hurting you?” Sherlock sank deeper into his bed, covering his face with trembling hands for a long moment. He let them fall and looked up at John, his eyes full of confusion. “Yes. I felt it. It was like all the warmth in the world was draining away. For a moment, I knew I’d never feel true happiness ever again.”

John was the one holding Sherlock’s hand now, “I know we can be off our game with one another, but I don’t want to go, Sherlock. I know we make a right mess of things repeatedly but we’re getting better, I hope.” Sherlock smiled, his eyes a bit teary, but he was listening intently, “Sherlock, I love you. I want to be with you. I want you to be able to rely on me, to know that your trust in me is well-placed. Yeah, I could have done without some of the shite we dragged ourselves through but…better, yes, we’re getting better. I’m not so off my head anymore and you’re…well, a bit more perforated than you were before, but you’re still the same insane madman I fell in love with all those years ago.”

Sherlock was smiling now, his eyes bright with tears still, but he looked softer, more content, “ _Years_ , John?”

“Almost from the first,” admitted John, “You were married to your work and you were so incredible, I knew that I would never want to change who you were just because I wanted you all for myself. I didn’t deserve that, I still don’t.”

“Stop it, John,” Sherlock lifted John’s fingers to his mouth and kissed the tips, “You are the greatest treasure I have ever come across, the most enticing mystery, the only person in the world who interests me endlessly. I love you too, John, and though I am awful, I will endeavour to do right by you.”

“Marry me, Sherlock,” John asked spontaneously, “We can’t bond, but you can make me your husband, at least.”

The laugh that he’d wrung from his omega was beautiful, unfettered and filled with joy. John realized that his chest felt warm again, he was full again of that deep lovely feeling. His mind felt clearer and he knew that he’d ask the question because he sincerely wanted to, and no because his submissive side was trying to find a way to make his omega happy. Sherlock was grinning up at him, his face a picture of complete happiness, “At least, my John. Yes, I will marry you.”

A great deal needed to happen first. The doctors kept Sherlock in the hospital for a full month before they reluctantly allowed him to return back to Baker Street, and even then, they arranged a flotilla of private nurses to rotate in and out of the flat to ensure that Sherlock was receiving the best care, and not wearing John beyond his abilities. It took a frustrating month more before those visits trickled down to a single visit per day, and two weeks more before Sherlock was declared healed enough to partake in light activities. He hadn’t wasted the time.

Sherlock seduced John that very same night, not that he had to try very hard to win the alpha over. They’d been denied for so long that it only took a single passionate kiss before John was being led willingly to the bedroom where Sherlock spent hours indulging his sexual curiosity upon the eager body of his mate. John had no complaints, not when he got to enjoy the sight and sensation of his beautiful lover impaling himself upon John’s massive cock, writhing on it, and coming on it repeatedly. Sherlock rode John with a recklessness that the alpha had never thought to experience, Sherlock’s body accepting him as if they were made to fit one another. When John finally was allowed to come, both men were greatly satisfied with the tremendous mess left behind. Sherlock nearly purred as he rubbed their combined emissions all over himself and John.

“We need to shower,” John felt sticky, “It itches now.” They were covered in dried semen and slick. The air in their room had the distinctive pong of sex, and now that the musk of it was going stale, they were becoming aware of the urgent need to clean up and air the place out.

“Ugh,” Sherlock’s arm had stuck to John’s ribcage and both men winced as he peeled it off, “As enjoyable as that was, I’m going to agree. Come along, John, let’s clean up.”

Sherlock seemed to enjoy scrubbing John from head to toe, humming softly as he shampooed and rinsed his alpha, going so far as to towel John off and to help him into his robe. Sherlock’s contentment and happiness radiated off of him, and the heat in his chest spread all through John’s body once again. Sherlock helped him strip the sheets and remake the bed, both men laughing softly as they crawled beneath the blankets when they were done. Sherlock snuggled himself into John’s arms and fell asleep with a smile on his face, and John felt so peaceful, he hoped the moment would never end.

Sherlock had spent his recuperation time looking up details regarding weddings. He was determined to make it an occasion to remember and indulged himself in an intensive education regarding every aspect. If they weren’t able to bond, then all of London would damn well pause and watch the notable occasion of their legal union. The omega would accept no less. He called in every favour he could to make things happen, deploying both his homeless network and the many landladies that Mrs Hudson knew to get the best connections, the best prices, the best everything he could think of in order to make their day absolutely perfect. What they couldn’t locate, was someone to legally do their vows for them. Sherlock was entirely unimpressed, “What do you mean it’s not legal?”

The omega registered their intent to wed the moment he felt prepared enough or attempted to. He had not expected the formal letter denying their application and had stormed off to the government offices to complain, his alpha by his side. The representative behind the counter had not been impressed by his loud deductions and aggressive stance, “You are an omega, sir, your partner is an alpha. The United Kingdom does not possess a legal process that weds those genders together. If one of you were beta, then yes, but pardon my bluntness, you’re supposed to _bond_. That’s the reason the rest of us get married, because we can’t do that.” The government official didn’t look very sorry. He looked annoyed but then, anyone who was being forced to say no to Sherlock Holmes wasn’t going to be enjoying themselves. “You could form a civil partnership but again, being alpha and omega means that you’ll be legally responsible for each other’s material possessions but that’s about it, it’s not even as binding as CVs between other gender combinations because it allows for the agreements to break the moment you bond with someone else. Again, your ability to bond circumvents the legal code that applies to everyone else.”

John felt something beginning to burn red hot inside his chest just as Sherlock stood, looming over the frightened official, “I don’t _want_ a civil partnership. I want to get _married_. To him. That man there. Can you see him? He is a human being and a citizen of this country, as am I, and you’re saying that not only can we _not_ get legally married to one another, but that no court in this land will even support a civil partnership due to a possible bond with some unknown third party?”

“Well, no, you can apply to have medical authorities too, but only if you’re both orphaned or do not have siblings to undertake those duties.” The official looked a bit more nervous now because Sherlock was glaring at him intently.

“That’s…” Sherlock raged, “That’s ludicrous!”

“It’s the law, sir!” Sherlock growled angrily, and the official began furtively moving his hand toward a panic button, and now John intervened.

“Time to go speak to the Queen, love.” Their old joke didn’t even put a dent in Sherlock’s fury as John drew him away to go speak with his brother. If anyone could find a loophole, it was him.

A short while later, John and Sherlock were signing their way into the Diogenes club. John was lightening Sherlock’s mood by deliberately asking the valet poorly phrased questions. He was fluent in both BSL as well as ASL but was secure enough with who he was to play the buffoon for his friend’s benefit. The club employees didn’t outright snub Sherlock, but they certainly made him aware that they found his existence irksome and only tolerable because of his older brother’s membership. John had never been one to abide that kind of attitude, especially toward Sherlock so whenever they had to be there, the small doctor tested the limits of their service contracts by asking how their goiter was doing and inferring that the old chap at the door had spent an invigorating evening in a bondage club the night before. Like always, it amused Sherlock intently so by the time they arrived at Mycroft’s rooms, the omega was in a less aggravated state of mind. “When were you going to tell me?”

Mycroft kept working on his report, sounding bored, as he typed, “The laws have been available for your perusal for years, Sherlock. I know you know how to find things online.”

“Fix it.”

Mycroft sighed and sat back, “I’ve _been_ fixing it, it just takes time. It takes longer to change the minds of the hidebound than it takes to draw up perfectly simple universal marriage legislation.” He glanced over at John, “You could always just continue living in sin.”

“I don’t believe in sin because I am an atheist, Mycroft, as are you! I don’t want to wait for some stogey old politicians to emerge from the dark ages of social history, I just want to marry John. Is that too much to ask?”

“Yes, today it is. Wait a year, it will be possible then.” Mycroft went back to his report and ignore his brother stamping his feet and tearing at his hear as he threw a fit, “Charming, I can see why John is so enthralled with you, you must bring him a life filled with grace and tranquillity.”

“I don’t want to wait a _year!_ Can’t we just do it now and validate the licence later?” Sherlock demanded.

Mycroft heaved a put-upon sigh before looking directly at his brother and saying, “Hold any ceremony you like, invite all your friends. Have repeat performances, none of them is legally binding until a year from now. I won’t apologise for that because I’ve put in a lot of effort to get things even this far, so no, there are no _pre-licence-signing provisos_ being made available.”

“You are useless sometimes.” Sherlock began kicking at the expensive and heavy furniture.

“Take your pouty omega pheromones out of my club, if you please. Half the membership is in their golden years, their hearts can’t take the prolonged scent of a young omega,” Mycroft eyed his brother before going back to reading his work, “Well, young-ish.”

“I am not pouting,” Sherlock’s bottom lip was hanging perilously low whilst attempting to make that claim but John didn’t point it out. “ _And_ I’ll always be nearly a decade younger than you.”

“Come on, love, a year isn’t so bad. It will give us time to really plan and save up for whatever you want.” Sherlock’s shoulders slumped in defeat and he stopped his energetic display of petulance to go stand by the man he was trying to cleave himself to, “Mycroft will need at least that long to secure a date, his invite is going to insist on a plus one.”

“No, thank you.” Mycroft said primly from behind them, “I will attend alone or not at all.”

“It’s our wedding and believe me when I tell you that your mum is going to agree with me. You’ve got a year’s notice to find someone to spend our special day with.”

Sherlock looked despondent still, and his voice was flat and empty, “Let’s just go, John. I don’t care who is at our wedding, I just wanted to…to be yours, _properly_ , in some way that other people could see and recognise.”

His hand rose to his neck, unconsciously touching the scar that was denying them what nature had provided, the ability to bond. John reached for that same hand and brought it down to hold his. The omega had clearly been bothering the area repeatedly. It was red and swollen looking, and John made a mental note to find some ointment to sooth it. The bite hadn’t been Sherlock’s fault, and he’d paid a terrible price to break himself free of the non-consenting bondage that it had meant. The omega’s emotions were sometimes raw, and his mind wasn’t as nimble as it used to be. Sherlock spooked easily, and over-reacted frequently, far more than he’d ever done in the past. He still had nightmares, they both did. It had been worse in the last two weeks, but John had chalked it up to the tension being built up from forced inactivity. They were better for being together, both men taking comfort in the company of their chosen mate no matter what. “You _are_ mine, you nutter, and no bite mark or wedding ring or any kind of legal paper is going to make that more real. We have always been a couple, right? Everyone said so, everyone knows the moment they see us.”

Sherlock tried to argue the point but after opening and closing his mouth a few times he had to concede the point. John had shouted “not gay” a thousand times and no one had ever believed him. A reluctant smile grew on the omega’s face as he finally nodded, “True.” He sighed deeply, “Very well, John. We’ll wait the year to have our legal wedding.”

While Sherlock had been agreeable whilst in the offices, once they hit the streets he became irritable and snappish. John tried to find ways to cheer up his disgruntled mate, but Sherlock wasn’t having any of it. He refused food, he forced John to begin walking with him all the way back to Baker Street despite the fact that it was damp and cool out, and he refused to slow down, storming down the pavements as fast as he could. John nearly had to jog to keep up and he felt the fool as Sherlock remained two paces in front of him, “Slow down, dammit.”

If anything, Sherlock walked faster, leaving John further and further behind. When he was half-a-block in the lead, John finally gave up, throwing his hands in the air and slowing himself down. His hip was aching. Grousing to himself, John pushed away the feeling of humiliation as his omega left him far in the rear. His chest was hurting again, the burn turning into something icy and hard. Sherlock had shut him out and he could feel it. John was upset at being abandoned and when he could no longer see Sherlock, he stopped entirely and found a small café to have tea in.

“Go fuck yourself, Holmes,” John muttered. _He’d had such a good start to the day and now it was all shit again. Well, what should he have expected from Sherlock?_ John was incapable of keeping his omega happy. He was a source of constant disappointment to Sherlock, that was a fact. John hung his head. _If only there had been some way of circumventing their obstacles, perhaps Sherlock wouldn’t be so eager to be shot of him. Perhaps this was a sign. They just weren’t meant to be together, that seemed to be the message the universe kept sending out_.

The ice in his chest grew larger as his mind spun around and around, his depressive thoughts flourishing in the chaos that was his instability. _John was sub-standard. If he were an omega as fine as Sherlock, he’d be embarrassed to be seen in public with John too. Maybe it was best that he let Sherlock have his space._ John decided to wait until nightfall before returning to Baker Street, that way, no one would see him scuttle back to 221 B Baker Street, and shame Sherlock for choosing such a pathetic alpha. _The omega didn’t need John dragging him down, holding him back, why, John couldn’t even keep pace with his mate when walking! How could he ever claim to be of use anywhere?_

John had not felt this low in a while. When his tea was done, John reluctantly left the café and began limping his way back to the flat, taking a circuitous route to use up as much time as possible. When he finally arrived, Sherlock wasn’t home. Dejected, John went to his room and sat on his bed. It was fate, he decided. The laws of the country wouldn’t allow him to marry Sherlock, they couldn’t bond, they couldn’t have a CP, and Sherlock had left him behind yet again. John’s chest was itching, like something inside was trying to claw its way out. He felt out of focus and unbalanced. He lay back and curled up tight into a ball of misery. _How many times would Sherlock abandoned him before it became permanent?_ Closing his eyes, John let the blankness drag him under, his mouth turned down in a frown of pure sadness. _He was alone and he would always be alone._

Hours drifted by as John lay in the cold and dark. He became aware that he was growing warmer, that something was pulling him from sleep. With a start, he realised that someone was pressed against his back and in a blind panic, he tried to get away. “John!” It was Sherlock, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, my John. I had no right to just walk away. You did nothing wrong and I feel how I’ve hurt you yet again. I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Long thin arms wrapped around his chest and John felt the ice recede a bit, “I was at Bart’s. Molly shouted at me. She told me I was cruel.”

“You are.” John closed his eyes, his mouth still turned down. _Why was Sherlock here_? “Don’t bother apologising. I’m not worth it. I’m not worth anything. I’ll leave. You deserve better.”

“Never say that, John.” Sherlock kissed the back of John’s head, “You are worth everything, to me. I love you, John Watson. I’m sorry for making you feel anything negative, it was not my intention. I was just…frustrated. I missed you right away. I should have texted, I should have called. Every minute we were apart felt like punishment. I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you, my John. You have done so much to make me happy and all I’ve done in return is make you feel unworthy.” One large hand began to drift up and down John’s arm, “I always need you, my John, always. You are my strength, my resolve, my reason for being.”

John felt his great sadness begin to melt away. He kept his eyes closed and mutely accepted Sherlock’s caresses. Carefully, the omega peeled them both out of their clothes, shifting John’s body as necessary before pressing close the moment they were both naked. “Sherlock.”

“John.” Now Sherlock’s hands were roaming, and John felt warm, “My beautiful alpha, so strong, so perfect.” Sherlock’s words were melting the ice inside and John felt his body relax. Sherlock’s voice grew deeper, warmer, “Such a handsome clever alpha, so good to me, so good for me.  You are so strong, stronger than any alpha I have ever met. You never have to prove that you are strong or brave because you are strong and brave where others are only posing. You keep me safe when no other person on this earth is able to do so. You are kind, so kind, and it makes me feel humble that despite the fact that anyone at all would be deliriously happy to have you that you have decided to choose me. I’m difficult, rude, mean-spirited, callous, and yes, as Molly said, I am cruel. I need you, my John. I need you to keep me right. I need you to shine your light for me, to keep me from darkness, and when I fall into the abyss, I need your selfless heart to bring me back again. You are never weak, never broken, my beloved alpha. You are everything to me, everything I need you to be.”

Their bodies grew warmer together, and tenderly, Sherlock turned John onto his back so that he could kiss the still mournful alpha, “I wish I could be what you need.”

Sherlock’s face expressed his chagrin that his message had been once again misunderstood, “You are. You are _exactly_ what I need, and I regret so much that I make you feel so undeserving so often. You are worthy, John. It is I who is deficient.”

“No!” John protested. _How could Sherlock think that?_

“I am an addict. I am scarred. I am damaged goods, my John.” Sherlock turned his face away, looking ashamed of himself.

“So am I.” John replied instantly.

“No, you aren’t.” Sherlock seemed offended that John would say such a thing. “No, you are perfect, my John, perfect for me.”

“I feel the same about you, Sherlock, you’re amazing. I’ve always thought so.” The air seemed perfumed, and it was deliciously warm. Sherlock was sprawled over John, and their bodies were writhing against each other’s. John couldn’t get enough of the feel of Sherlock’s skin, and Sherlock seemed to be having the same problem. They struggled to keep kissing while at the same time, hungered to explore each other’s bodies with mouth as well as hands.

John gasped when Sherlock’s hand reached between his thighs, his long musician’s fingers attempting to span the circumference of it and failing. It made the omega groan hungrily, and wriggle downward to mouth at the huge head. John gasped again at the sensation of Sherlock’s hungry eager mouth doing it’s best to get any part of John inside. No one tried, not ever. He was too big, and his previous lovers had all used their hands and never their mouths.  “It’s glorious, John, so big, so fucking huge.” Sherlock’s voice sounded shaky as if he could barely contain himself. “I’ll never have enough of this. This is mine, only for me. Only I will ever know what it is like to have you inside. Only I can handle the magnificent John Watson. You are mine and you are incredible.”

John was in raptures. His omega was so happy, so content, so needy. It was heaven. Sherlock was all over him, rubbing their bodies together, kissing him deeply, stroking and fondling his aching cock, rolling his bollocks gently. It was exciting, thrilling, delightful. “You’re so…”

Whatever he was trying to say was lost when Sherlock flung a long leg over John’s hips, settling himself directly on top of John’s prick, capturing it between their two bodies. Sherlock’s hips snapped and rolled, smearing his abundant lubricant up and down John’s shaft until it was drenched. Sherlock’s cheeks were red with arousal, his eyes wild, “Need you.”

“Yes,” agreed John, almost mindless with lust, “Have me. Use me.”

“Oh, John,” Sherlock’s voice slid down the register until it was a rumbling growl. Using his hand, he held John’s cock upright, pressing the head against his sodden opening and without needing any further preparation, slowly allowed it to penetrate him. John’s eyes rolled back and distantly, his brain recognised that Sherlock had slipped into heat, taking John with him. His knot began to swell, and by the time Sherlock was far enough onto John to feel it, both of them were well and fully caught in the throes of mindless passion.

John gripped Sherlock’s hips, forcing him back down each time the omega rose up, causing both of them to groan and sigh with pleasure as their bodies worked. John felt something warm land on his belly, heard Sherlock’s shuddering cries and realised that his omega had experienced his first orgasm and that broke a hidden dam inside John’s mind. Pulling out, he almost threw Sherlock face first onto their bed and shoved his enormous prick back inside until his knot was the only thing keeping him from being fully buried.

“John, yes, oh fuck yes!” Sherlock’s cries were ecstatic, so without hesitation, John began to fuck his omega hard and fast, ruthlessly pounding into his body. Sherlock was wet with slick, his body producing copious amounts of it to aid John’s quest. His entrance was stretched tight, a pale pink ring that engulfed John hungrily, “Bite me, alpha, breed me! Bond me!”

John didn’t hesitate this time either. He didn’t care if Sherlock’s bonding gland had been destroyed all those years ago. Satisfying a primal need in both of them, John gripped Sherlock’s hips firmly and used the leverage to force his knot inside before bending down to swiftly bite his way through the thick scar on Sherlock’s neck, piercing him deeply top and bottom. They groaned together, and John lost himself in that moment, his mouth filled with a thick sweetness he’d never tasted before, his knot being milked by the convulsive throbbing of Sherlock’s inner passage as the omega orgasmed a second time. Pulse after pulse of come filled Sherlock as John came so hard that he nearly lost consciousness. He could taste the metallic tang of blood as he released his bite, collapsing on top of Sherlock to gasp for breath as his omega trembled beneath him.

Sherlock was curiously pliant and unresisting. He didn’t struggle or complain that John was too heavy. Instead, the omega appeared to be humming softly, a small smile on his lips, his eyes closed as he shivered along with the waves of pleasure that still wracked him. John blinked blearily and saw that Sherlock’s neck was dripping blood. Instinctively, he lapped and licked at it, keeping it up until the wound sealed over, leaving behind a perfect impression of John’s teeth. It filled John with a sense of satisfaction and completion that he’d never experienced, and it was the last lucid thought he had for days.

When John became aware next, he had to check his nearly dead mobile for the date. The better part of a week had passed during their heat, and he was tired still. He didn’t recall eating or drinking clearly but they must have done since he wasn’t dehydrated. He felt exceedingly tired but his mind was clear, his thoughts moving easily instead of spinning themselves into a muddle. Looking around, he wrinkled his nose at the disgusting mess. There was dried come, slick, and mess everywhere. Their bedding was ruined, even their pillows stained and crusty. Sherlock was snoring face down, his long legs still spread, his thighs as crusty as the bed, his hole reddened and raw looking. Spunk was still leaking out of it and John’s sore cock gave a hopeful twitch before giving up out of sheer exhaustion.

John forced himself to get up, groaning a little as he peeled a sheet off his calf and nearly fell as his weak legs attempted to get him to the loo. Sherlock’s snores were uninterrupted as John wobbled his way to the bathroom. Once there, he gingerly relieved himself, wincing as his very chafed penis silently complained about overuse. John brushed his disgusting teeth, and then managed to get into the shower. The first blast of ice-cold water shocked him the rest of the way awake. He washed himself carefully, his strained muscles and empty belly making him feel queasy.

When he got out, John got into his robe, found a deep basin in the kitchen, and filled it with hot water and clean flannels. He carried it carefully to the bedroom, lay down his damp towel to kneel on, and carefully washed Sherlock’s entire body from top to bottom before rolling his omega over onto another clean towel and washing him all over again. He changed the water twice before he was satisfied that his lover was as clean as he could get.

Sherlock slept on, dead to the world, his body limp with weariness. John considered the fact that their bed was atrocious before carefully gathering Sherlock in his arms and lifting him up. It was no trouble at all for the stocky alpha to carry his long lean lover out to the front room where he gently set the omega down onto the sofa and covered his nakedness with a blanket. Leaving him there, John went to their bedroom and cleaned everywhere.

Just as he was done smoothing down the fresh sheets and duvet, John felt something tug at him. The warmth that he’d felt for so long was almost a physical thing now. Without a word, he left off what he was doing and went to the living room. Sherlock was just waking up, his hand splayed across his chest, his eyes moving unerringly to meet John’s. There was shock there. “I feel…” he began uncertainly.

John felt something in his chest tug at him, and he let it. He went to Sherlock’s side, kneeling on the floor so he could grasp his hand, “Me too.”

Sherlock’s eyes were wide with disbelief, and the beginnings of hope. “How?”

John shook his head, “I’m not really sure about how, but…yes.”

Tears filled Sherlock’s eyes and he was struggling to breathe around sobs that he could not contain, “Yes?”

A huge grin split John’s face as he nodded, “Yes.” He was dragged onto the sofa where Sherlock wrapped his arms and legs about John as he cried openly, “Yes, Sherlock, yes!”

He could feel it. Somewhere inside, Sherlock had tethered himself to John’s soul. There was an invisible conduit there, something shining and brilliant, and theirs. _A bond. A real bond. They had bonded!_ John could feel Sherlock’s emotions. They were chaotic, powerful, and real. _His omega. His true mate! His other half. They had miraculously bonded, and no one could ever tear them apart._ “I love you, John, I love you.”

John could feel it, thick and warm, soft and invasive, filling his core before moving on to fill every other part of him. Tendrils of it burrowed into his brain, and his entire physical being synched up with his mate, both of them stabilizing the other, making them stronger, smarter, and simply more than they’d been before. John knew the truth of things with certainty. _Sherlock loved him down to their very last particle, and he could feel it. They were bonded._ John’s tears melded with Sherlock’s as they wept with relief and happiness. Marriage could wait. Children were possible. Everything was possible. They had bonded.

Things were different for them immediately. John and Sherlock spent their first day together laughing easily, reminiscing over old cases together, and smiling. John felt good, healthy the way he’d been back in the beginning before separation and grief had carved his soul to shreds. Sherlock was full of mirthful delight, his cold impersonal façade completely gone as he flirted and joked with his bond-mate. They played games and ordered out once more. It was bliss. When John went to the store, the warmth in his chest was a pleasant burn. All the pain and uncertainty was gone, and he was clear-headed as well as happy. He spoiled Sherlock with biscuits and his favourite selection of fruit, going home with a fresh container of milk for their tea.

As the months passed, their bond grew stronger. It was no longer a simple tie that melded their hearts. It had grown into a complicated mesh that kept them sane, stable, and incredibly happy. The did the Work together, solving cases as a solid unit, their strengths working seamlessly in unison to overcome their weaknesses and blind-spots until they were nearly unstoppable. Their reputation grew once again, but this time when people asked if they were a couple, both men would smile, nod, and proudly agree that they were. Sherlock never popped his collar or even buttoned his shirts up all the way. He loved to show off his bite-mark, preening as other omega eyed it enviously because John Watson was just that good.

Sometimes other alphas would begin to challenge John, especially when Sherlock’s next heat approached. The omega’s happiness contributed greatly toward increasing the almost irresistible appeal of his scent, and though he was obviously bonded, he still attracted attention from others. John would simply smile the angry little smile that he had, and Sherlock would be nearly swooning with desire as the challengers melted away, his bond uncontested. John would kill to keep Sherlock, his smile told them so, and beautiful or not, no one else wanted to die for Sherlock the way John was willing to.

Thirteen months after their bonding, Sherlock and John stood together inside the biggest room of the Holmes manor and exchanged simple vows to love and cherish one another for as long as they both lived. Tears ran down Sherlock’s face as John put a ring on his finger, and John could not stop smiling when his omega returned the favour. They were legally married in front of everyone they cared about, one of the first hundred couples to take advantage of the new universal marriage laws now in place. “I know we didn’t need to.” Sherlock admired his ring.

“I know, my love, but now we can wear the rings.” John admired his in return. They matched, both men wearing heavy silver rings on their right hands. “And I can call you my husband.”

“I can call you mine,” Sherlock’s eyes were filled with emotion. He was never cold and austere, not with John, not ever, though he could still be so with others. He never called John names, or left him behind, or lied to his alpha. There was no need. They understood one another perfectly. Many people commented on the strength of their bond, they had never seen a pair as tightly bound together as the two of them.

It made John very content. He still made the tea and looked after the flat. Sherlock still blew things up and left horrible things in the fridge, but that was their life, the natural order of their world. When on cases, John was as deadly and dangerous as Sherlock was brilliant and clever. When they were at home, they were satisfied with everything they shared. John worked once more, but only a day or two a week because the Work came first. When they came back from their honeymoon, they were exhausted by the travel and the fact that Sherlock’s heat had come unusually early, “John?”

“Yes, love?” John was unpacking their things and sorting out clean from soiled.

“What do you think about babies?”

“That they are very small humans.”

“Do you like them?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, I seem to be gestating.” John stopped what he was doing and stared at his mate. Sherlock’s grin was wild and almost feral once more.

“What?”

“I’m pregnant.” John shouted, running the few steps it took to grab up his mate to spin them about, “John!”

“Sherlock!” John set his husband down, kissing him hard on the mouth before dropping to his knees to kiss his still flat belly, “A baby.”

“Three.”

“What?”

“Three, John. I can feel them already. Two boys and one girl.” John was almost delirious with happiness. He had everything and more. He was the happiest of people because his mate was brilliant, beautiful, and pregnant. Their lives were just beginning, and they would have a full and loving adventure together. John and Sherlock stood in the middle of their home, their eyes locked together as they kissed once more and began to plan. Together, they could do anything, be anything, handle anything, because together, they were perfect.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this particular experiment. I hope those who read it enjoyed it. Thank you for reading along, and stay tuned for my future endeavours to see my OTP happy once more.
> 
> d


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